


Confluence

by SylverStorms



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Falling In Love, Healing, Kindred shenanigans, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Vampire Bites, Vampire Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylverStorms/pseuds/SylverStorms
Summary: They had nothing in common. No mutual ground to tread upon. Therese was a businesswoman in the world of darkness; successful, ruthlessly elegant, immaculately poised. Jeanette was an uncontrollable troublemaker, a wild card, a promiscuous tease. What one wished to build the other was far more likely to seek to destroy. Since the moment of their Embrace, they had never wanted the same thing.Until they both started developing feelings for the fledgling Kindred in town.
Relationships: Fledgling/Jeanette Voerman, Fledgling/Therese Voerman
Comments: 50
Kudos: 98





	1. Jeanette: Intro

**[Jeanette]**

The bass beat in time with a hundred hearts.

Bodies –some warmer than others— undulated across the dance floor, under the flashing, purple neon lights. Swayed and shifted like restless ocean waves, in perpetual motion, completely lost in the moment and the music. The scent of alcohol, sweat and a chaotic mix of perfumes and colognes lingered in the air, colored it, gave it _life_.

Lightly heterochrome eyes, one grey, one grayish green, observed the sea of individuals for the most interesting fish to pass the night reeling in. Alive or only pretending to be so didn’t matter. She was several levels more bored than she was thirsty. There were a few promising new and old faces that looked like they could tickle her fleeting fancy, though nothing earth-shattering.

Jeanette huffed. _Eeny, meeny, miny, moe_. She thought past the tiny whispers in the back of her mind –they’d been quite chatty that evening— casting her gaze around until she finally settled on her lucky target. A guy not a full moon past his mid-twenties, whose abs, visible under his tight shirt, could probably make up for his lack of personality. Hopefully. And if they didn’t, she was always up for a quick snack.

She knew she was merely settling. In her twisted little head, Jeanette wished for something to _really_ attract her attention. _Pretty please, God? Cherry on top._

A few seconds ticked by. Nothing happened.

 _Oh, Well._ Jeanette mused. _Makes sense._ He had no reason to give a single rat’s ass about the Kindred, who diverted from the path of His creation and yadda yadda, all that useless shit her sister filled their mind with. Then again, He hadn’t seemed to care even back when she wasn’t damned, so, really, she’d drawn the short stick on that one.

The first gliding step had been taken towards the athletic mortal, when the doors to her haven of a club were pushed open. The night breeze crept inside, floating an unfamiliar, _wonderful_ moonlit scent along with it—

A Cheshire grin spread over Jeanette’s crimson lips. She knew just who it was that crossed her unhumble doorstep and she couldn’t _wait_ to meet them. Gleaming eyes turned towards the infamous fledgling Kindred, seeing them for the very first time…

And oh.

_Ooh._

She. Was. _Hot_.

 _That_ was why the voices had been so eagerly gossiping about the new birdie in town. Naughty Malkavians.

Jeanette didn’t know if the new bee was graced by every single higher power deciding on looks or whether her Embrace into the night was just _that_ generous with her. Either way, the girl was plain delicious. Her dark jacket hugged her tense shoulders just right, the jeans around her lean thighs glued to them like a second skin. Curvy, thin lips were pressed into a tight line, in perfect symmetry with those almond, grass-green eyes of hers. In sharp contrast to her pale skin was her midnight hair, styled in gentle waves that fell past her shoulders, the whole image effortlessly sexy.

It got the ‘Jeanette seal of approval’, that was for sure.

“Look what we have here.” she sing-songed the second she locked gazes with the fledgling. “Another scrumptious young plaything straight out of life and into my club. You smell new, little girl. Like fabric softener dew on freshly mowed Astroturf. Ooh, I’m not frightening you, am I, duckling?”

The prettygirl gave her a look. Then the edge of her lip relaxed, ever so slightly, curving up in an amused manner. “If only all frightening things looked like this.” 

“Hm hm hm. I can tell you and I are going to get along _just_ like fire hoses.” Jeanette thought aloud. A perfectly arched eyebrow raised. “When we get turned on, there’s _bound_ to be flames.” she elaborated.

“Interesting. May I have the pleasure of your name?” the beauty asked, ultra polite with perhaps a faint sprinkle of flirty. Either that, or the knight-like charm was her default state.

“I'm the finger down your spine when all the lights are out. I'm the name on all the men's room walls. When I pout, the whole world tries to make me smile. And everyone always wants to know, who... is... that girl?” Jeanette replied cryptically, ruby lips curling around every word.

“So… _who_ is that girl?” the fledgling inquired, playing along.

“I… am… Jeanette! And this bit of chaos crammed into a certifiable giggle is my club.” she spoke, all while getting into a new game in her head. Trying to figure out what clan the newbie belonged to. Nosferatu and Tremere were immediately ruled out.

 _‘I know! Oooh I do know!’_ The voices tried to say, but Jeanette shouted back at them not to spoil the fun, proceeding with ‘ _lalalala’_ s to make sure she didn’t overhear anything by accident.

“A pleasure, Jeanette. My name’s Iris.” _Iris. Iris Adair._ Jeanette’s curious mind filled the gap for her.

“Iris. Pretty, like the rest of the wound-up wonder I see.” The compliment-laced comment came spilling out of her.

“Yeah, it’s… not easy to be here.”

Jeanette was positive Iris was going against every instinct and leftover human habit, not breathing on purpose. She was clearly thirsty, fingers twitching from the effort to deny it, itching for the liquid ecstasy calling at them both from inside all the mortals surrounding them. The hunger was always _bad_ the first year.

“On the contrary, little bird. It’s as easy in here as taking candy from a kid.” Jeanette licked her lips like a lioness smelling fresh meat.

“Yes and equally wrong.” Iris angled her body away from the dancing Kine.

_Definitely not Brujah. Toreador, then? She’s got the angsty, tormented artist vibe down._

_...I’m into it._

Jeanette flashed the fledgling another toothy smile. “Hon, don’t be a stick in the mud.” Her dainty fingers reached up between them, a fleeting brush at Iris’ narrow chin turning that green gaze back to temptation. “Try to keep the big, bad wolf muzzled and it will _eat_ you whole.”

Iris’ rising thirst echoed like a lover’s caress over Jeanette’s senses, coaxing forth her own. But the faintest stirring in the back of her head told her there was no time to linger and play; Therese was waking and she was _always_ grumpy when she did. 

“Oh, I’d love to give you funny feelings all night sweetheart, but I really must trouble with some business.” Jeanette play-pouted. Suggestive fingertips lightly trailed down the zipper of the newbie’s jacket. “We’ll reunite sweet and soon, I promise.”

Iris managed a reserved nod, highlighted by a tiny smile.

 _First impression: too hot to be this good._ Jeanette thought as the elevator doors clicked shut behind her. Sad that the moral types tended not to last long in their messy world of blood and darkness. _But the good ones are always the most fun to corrupt~_

Jeanette smiled to herself. She wanted the things that intrigued her …and the newbie was intriguing indeed.

That very moment marked the grand beginning of a new and exciting game of ‘chase and seduce’ that was sure to keep her entertained not one, but _several_ nights of her unlife.

If Therese didn’t fuck it all up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Therese (and Jeanette) is an NPC I instantly fell in love with the second I saw her back in the glory days (of my early teen years lol) when I played VTMB. I always wanted to 'romance' her or get to know her better and the quests where our vampire got to interact with her left me wanting more of the stoic Baron. So, after working on my writing, years later and with the long-awaited Bloodlines 2 on its way, I decided to explore her fascinating character. I wish I had time for a fully fleshed-out story, explaining the world and going into the intricate Kindred politics, but sadly I don't, so oneshots -snapshots in a way- where Iris grows closer to the two are what I chose to go with. 
> 
> So, let's see. Can the two that split up so long ago into polar opposites meet somewhere in the middle?


	2. Therese: Intro

**[Therese]**

Murphy’s law was a very real phenomenon in Therese’s unlife. And when it struck, it was merciless.

It should be statistically impossible for _everything_ to go wrong in such a short amount of time, yet the universe was determined to prove to her that, indeed, it could be done.

The Baron got off her latest phone call more stressed out than she had gone into it. That was certainly setting a new record. Her plush maroon chair, fit for the ruler of the city, embraced her weight silently as she fully leaned back, stretched her neck and sore shoulders. She ached even in places where she didn’t know was possible for muscles to protest. Still, she stubbornly straightened her posture once more, adjusted her tailored brown blazer and schooled her expression to its usual, stoic neutrality.

She had an image to upkeep, even when nobody was around. Such was the weight the title of ‘Baron’ held.

Though, if she were honest, between her vulgar, shameless sister scheming against her, determined to sully her name to the Camarilla and her most recent investment going south, it was nigh impossible not to seem even the least bit affected. That was without adding to the chaotic mix the rising frequency of Sabbat attacks so dangerously close to her borders.

Therese very much felt like the captain of a ship riddled with holes, requiring the attention of a crew that lacked _any_ initiative to fix them. A crew that had to be told specifically what to do and often shown _exactly_ how to do it, though still, somehow, failing half the time.

 _I am surrounded by incompetence..._ she huffed.

She was loathe to admit the only one in her Barony who could get the job done had been Bertram Tung, an expert in information gathering and all matters requiring physical force. And yet, he had signed his own death sentence the moment he decided to lay hands on her sister –the mere thought brought her unadulterated _nausea_ — and even go as far as to ruin a few of Therese’s projects for her. So, he had lost his right to come out to the surface and she had lost a valuable agent.

All because of _Jeanette_. 

A knock on the door broke the Baron from her thoughts.

A frown shadowed her brow. She was certain she wasn’t expecting any visitors for the night. “Come in.” she called, rising from her seat to stand beside her neatly-organized desk.

The door opened, welcoming a fresh scent inside the office. A hint of wildflowers, a tinge of gunpowder, all underneath something distinctly fresh. _Clean_. Therese could appreciate that. The good-looking newcomer stepping past her threshold was familiar; it only took her a moment to recall where from.

 _Ah, the infamous fledgling whose mere existence riled up the Prince._ An unauthorized Embrace, from what Therese had heard. A _forced_ one at that, probably out of spite, which ultimately left an elder reduced to ashes and a Childe alone in the night, without a clan to back her up or a Sire to show her the ropes. It was a wonder the other Kindred survived the few months she did without any of those things.

But. That in no way meant Therese approved of the Camarilla’s unwanted fledgling running around in her Barony, loading her mistakes onto her name.

The first one being coming to her office uninvited.

“I was not aware of any meetings scheduled for tonight. How did Cal let you up?” Icy blue eyes narrowed behind the black rim of her glasses.

“My apologies.” the fledgling – _Iris—_ said _._ And the fact Therese knew her name meant Jeanette had already met her. “It’s not his fault. I needed to speak to you urgently, so I was quite… persuasive.” her tone was even, serious.

Therese raised an eyebrow. She could certainly see how the other Kindred could persuade people to do her bidding… and that it wouldn’t take much. _Toreador charm?_ was her first guess. _Or just a straight-up bribe?_ Either way, admitting it to her took guts. The newbie got points for honesty and manners, if nothing else.

“Is that so.” the Baron hummed. “Well then, let us take it from the start. I am Therese Voerman, the proprietor of this club and the only person in this city whose good side it's in your best interest to stay on. What brings you to Santa Monica?”

“A pleasure, Miss Voerman. I’m Iris Adair, here on Camarilla business.” she said, intense green eyes never leaving her own. “But to complete the task assigned to me, I need you to call off your feud with Bertram Tung.”

Therese’s lip quirked downwards. “Tung’s exile is self-imposed, I assure you.” It was only half a lie. “But then, what reason would I have not to hate that loathsome Nosferatu scoundrel?” She had _every_ reason. “Bloody Nosferatu. They’re so… _unclean_.”

Something like compassion towards the disfigured clan flashed through the depths of those emeralds. She disagreed with the Baron’s views, but she was smarter than to show it. “I still need him for the job.” Iris’ commitment to her task was near commendable. “Could you put out the word that everything between you is good?”

Therese gave her a scrutinizing look. On one hand… the fledgling didn’t look like much of a fighter. Not like a bulky Brujah or the cunning Nosferatu living under her city. On the other, she did seem capable. Perhaps, if she could prove herself useful…

“I might be willing to put the word out that my grievances with Tung have been swept under the rug…” she began.

“But in exchange?” Iris already knew how the Kindred game was played. _Excellent_. Therese was glad to not have misjudged her as intelligent.

“You’ll have to first get rid of a particularly burdensome spirit, haunting a piece of property I’m looking to invest in.” was said simply, like stating the sky was blue.

Iris’ expression shifted to confusion, nose scrunched for a moment in a way that was almost cute. Almost. “Like… a ghost?”

“Of course, you’re new to this. Yes, ghosts are real and so are a lot of other things you once may have thought belonged in myths.” Therese explained. “Rumor has it that a personal item of a phantom’s can be used to draw it out and excise it from its haunt. So, I need you to go to the Ocean Hotel house, retrieve a personal item of the spirit’s and bring it back to me.”

What she did not mention was the difficulty of the task and how many others had failed it, Kindred and Kine alike.

Iris seemed skeptical. Rightfully so. “And if I do that, you’ll hold your end of the bargain.”

Therese could take offense to the mistrust, though she knew it was justified. Too many elders conveniently ‘forgot’ their agreements with newer Kindred, discarding them as little more than nuisances after they had taken what they wanted. She took pride in the fact she was nothing like them.

“I fully intend to do so.” she promised. “You’ll find that dealing with me, on the whole, is appreciably more predictable than dealing with some of the egomaniacs that are my peers. So long as our business doesn’t go sour, my word is gold.”

And it was. Only… she wasn’t truly expecting their business _not_ to go sour.

“Alright. I appreciate that. Guess I’m off on a ghost hunt.” she said. Therese couldn’t explain why the thought of her hunting anything felt like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

 _Oh, well._ She mused as she watched the fledgling walk away. _It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant meeting._

But chances were there wouldn’t be another.

It was a ‘hello’ and a ‘goodbye’ all in one…

Because Therese didn’t think Iris would be making it out of that place in one piece. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely *adore* writing Therese. Can't wait to go beyond the events of the game, but for now we stick to the plot. Baby steps is the way to go, especially when it comes to our beloved, stone-faced Baron. The way to her heart is through impressive deeds and this pretty fledgling has a long way to go. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to leave your thoughts on the previous chapter, it means a lot to me :)


	3. Power Play -Part One

**[Iris]**

_“You must go now…”_ a female voice whispered through the haze. Distant, like a dying echo. A dream. _“Dawn is rising.”_

A fleeting, ghostly touch at her cheek –colder air, rather than an actual caress– made Iris stir. Emerald-green eyes blinked open slowly. Moist soil greeted them, along with the ever-lightening night sky. The Beast in her coiled uneasily, its instincts urging to get up, to run back to darkness, to safety. The light was an enemy and it was fatal.

But.

Iris had missed it so _much_. 

If she tried to move, everything hurt. Her right arm had been fractured in at least two places from the objects flying like missiles at her, inside the haunted mansion. Her shoulder was slashed deep, oozing out rivers of blood. Minor burns prickled across all of her limbs.

For a moment, she considered just laying there, seeing the sunrise one more time –one final time. Then, a flood of memories crashed into her mind’s eye, drowning all notions of a peaceful surrender. Blood across the kitchen floor. Her mother lying cold in a pool of gore. Gleaming, crazed eyes staring back at her from the darkness.

The Sabbat had taken everything away long before one vengeful Camarilla decided to strip the light of day from her, as well. Iris would not rest until every one of those accursed monsters had met their final deaths in her hands. _No matter how much more shit I have to go through with the Camarilla. No matter how many centuries pass..._

The fingers of her left hand curled into the dirt, summoning the strength to pull her battered body up. Those of her right closed around a small, round object, instead.

Iris only then remembered the black fire that the upper floor of the Ocean Hotel had erupted into, chasing her like a hungering abyss. She had made a mad dash towards the final room, where a single, silver-encrusted ruby pendant lay forgotten on a small desk. The same one which started everything, the downwards spiral that ended up with a maniac killing off his entire family.

The fledgling willed herself into a kneeling position. Then, slowly, up on her feet. She cast one last gaze at the haunted property, over her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” she said, to the victims of the tragedy that occurred there. “May you finally find your peace.”

A comforting breeze, like a gentle push to the back, was the last thing she felt before all supernatural presences vanished from the grounds.

Iris focused her strength and ran towards the city.

…

The clock at her bedside table read eight in the afternoon.

The sun had been down for a good hour, but the characteristic fledgling exhaustion at the faintest trace of its light took a while to completely shake off. Iris practically felt like a zombie every time she woke up from her deep slumber, until night had _really_ settled across the sky –and her stupid supernatural senses.

One deliciously hot shower later, Iris dressed in clean clothes, took the spirit’s pendant in hand and made for the Asylum. On her way there, she couldn’t quite get rid of the feeling she was being watched. Hurried steps carried her to the club’s entrance, past which was, at the very least, guaranteed safety. 

Cal, the bartender she had Dominated in her haste to speak to Therese, gave her the stink-eye. Iris merely cast him an apologetic wave, heading for the elevator.

The door to the Baron’s office was left wide open. She took it as a sign to walk in… except the stoic woman was nowhere in sight. _Just my luck_ , Iris huffed. It was that very second she became aware of a disturbance in her surroundings, a powerful presence creeping _dangerously_ close—

“ _Boo_.” Jeanette’s voice came right by her ear, sending Iris up against the nearest wall in fright.

“ _Holy_ —!” she gasped, a hand automatically flying to her chest. If she had a heartbeat… she probably wouldn’t, after that. “How did you—” she began in a downright accusatory tone, which only made Jeanette lean back and laugh, extremely self-satisfied. It was a high, clear sound. Pretty. “Did you really use up blood just to sneak up on me?!”

“Well… duh.” The Malkavian –even without being told Iris would have guessed her clan— shrugged like it was no big deal. “You’re here to see her royal majesty Queen Victoria, aren’t you?” Those subtly heterochrome eyes scanned her up and down. Flirty, sultry, at first glance. Iris, however, had no doubt she was being dissected, just like with the Baron. Jeanette felt equally dangerous, if not more so.

“Yes, I need to see Therese.” she replied.

“Well, she’s out at the moment. No doubt making a show of how well her lips fit on the pants seat of the Camarilla. What, did you happen to find her chastity belt or something?” One slender yellow eyebrow raised. And if that verbal burn was any indication, the sisters’ relationship wasn’t the most wholesome.

“She sent me out to bring her something.” Iris said simply. The intensity of Jeanette’s stare almost made her want to fidget. She opted for merely shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“Ooh. Can I _see_ it?” The elder Kindred bat her eyelashes, all charm, stepping closer. Close enough to trample over any notion of personal space. She seemed perfectly aware her looks allowed her to cross that border with almost everyone she wished, whenever she felt like it and reveled in that power, freely.

Iris wasn’t shocked to discover saying ‘no’ to pretty girls, _especially_ blondes, was as difficult for her in death as it had been in life. _Woman up, don’t look below the neck._ She told herself, yet even from the collar up, Jeanette was a vision. One slightly touched in the head, but a vision nonetheless.

“It’s nothing, really. Just a souvenir from the Ocean Hotel.” Iris waved it off. Or tried to.

Long, pale fingers walked up the fledgling’s chest, to the exposed part of her throat, framed by the dark leather of her jacket. Jeanette’s voice dropped a sinful octave. “You won’t give it to me if I ask _nicely_ …?”

Iris took a breath. Held it. “I’m— supposed to give it to Therese.”

Something dangerous flashed through the Malkavian’s eyes. The Beast in the raven-haired Kindred wanted to flee, but she rooted her muscles in place. She was _more_ than what her vampiric instincts urged and demanded. She had never cowered in fear.

A distant echo in her vitae aligned with that thought; her clan was superior and bowed to _none_. 

Jeanette’s fingers then pressed flat against her cool skin, sliding to cup her neck, deceptively gentle. “What if I offer you a reward for it?” she cooed.

It was strange; Kindred were not known to be fans of physical contact. Its pleasure paled in comparison to a single drop of crimson, yet there was something… compelling, in the promise of intimacy.

Iris couldn’t lie convincingly enough that she didn’t like it. She also couldn’t be convinced that the attention and attraction was entirely genuine. As a mortal, she’d been disciplined enough to not be seduced by the fake beauty of the creatures of the night. As a Kindred, she maintained that control, not to lose herself in the siren call of blood, not to cave under the hot looks of one elder playing games with her for fun.

Iris stayed resolute. “I’m sorry, Jeanette. I really ought to give it to Therese.” She had a feeling the pendant would _never_ make it to the Baron’s hands otherwise.

Hearing that, Jeanette instantly let go. She stepped away as though disgusted, burned. Or… worse, utterly _hurt_. Iris was overcome by a terrible sense of guilt the second her expression twisted into heartbreak.

“I’m not some silly doll, you know!” The tone hit her right in the strings of her non-beating heart. “All my life, my sister’s made me out to be a joke. She told you that I was an embarrassment, didn’t she? That I couldn’t tie my own shoes, let alone hold onto something for her. Is that it?”

“No! No, please. Therese didn’t say anything bad about you, I promise.” Iris hurried to say. It had little effect.

“She’s always belittling me. She’s the smart one, she’s the favorite, she’s the successful –well it’s not fair! This club’s success is as much my doing as it is hers!” Jeanette snapped. She was lost in distress and there was no calming her down. “Do you understand what it’s like for your own flesh and blood to be ripping you apart on a daily basis for two lifetimes?!” she asked. “ _Can_ you?!”

Iris let out the breath she had been holding for some time. She deflated, just a little bit. “…I understand, more than you may think.” came the quiet admission. “My brother was always more of a rival than my sibling. And my father…” Emerald eyes darkened like the sky during a storm. “He was an _asshole_.” It came out laced with much more venom than she intended.

Jeanette’s dramatic outburst quieted to a mute frown, at that. She was studying her again, but this time Iris _did_ look away, wary of the rumoured Malkavian insight.

Her best course of action, she decided, was shifting the subject back to the original one. “Anyway, it’s not a matter of trust. This is just how I am. I made an agreement with Therese –and I have to give the pendant to her.” she spoke evenly and hoped Jeanette would understand.

Thankfully, she did. “ _Fine_ …” The elder Kindred was still pouty and none-too-happy about it, but she didn’t press the matter any further. “But since you were willing to brave that big, scary place for my sister, how about you do a teensy, tiny favour for lil’, troubled me?” There it was, the flirty smirk back into place. Iris greatly preferred it to the previous angst.

The fledgling huffed. She really didn’t have a choice. _I suppose I should be glad she’s at least pretending to present me with one._ “What sort of favor?”

“Do you know Gallery Noir, down the street? Lots of influential Santa Monicans are slithering in for token appearances, but there’s one thing they don’t know~” Jeanette sing-songed. “The whole event’s been set up by a Kindred trying to establish their own power clique in the city. And we can’t let that happen, can we? So, I need a brilliant young upstart to spoil the milk.”

Iris considered the task. “And what exactly do I have to do?”

“It’s really simple. Just take this knife and give the paintings there a good slashing. Don’t get caught and _don’t_ turn it into a massacre.” she both advised and warned as she presented Iris with a polished silver knife.

_This-_

_A Hunter’s weapon? Why would she give me this to destroy some paintings…?_

The fledgling tested its weight and balance on her hand. Emerald eyes looked up into blue and lime, but there was no answer to be found there. _Is there something she knows…?!_

Iris licked her lips but tried to play it cool. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Great!” Jeanette smiled a thousand-kilowatt smile. “I’m sure Therese will be thrilled to honor your agreement when you get back. And if you do what I asked just _right_ , I may have a little reward in stock for you, as well~” she winked, charming as a fairytale.

“Now I’m curious to see what it is.” Iris smiled as she walked towards the exit.

“You won’t just see, duckling. You’ll _feel_ it, too.” Jeanette’s husky chuckle followed her on her way out.

In the elevator, Iris looked down at the knife in her palm.

_I’m screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it's always nice to be a fledgling, tossed like a ball from one powerful Kindred to the other, begging for them to uphold their end of the deal. Such is the vamp society, though. Tough place for anyone new to be in, especially our dear Iris, who made enemies of the most powerful just by being Embraced, the wrong way, at the wrong time. 
> 
> On a side note, everyone who sees her assumes she's a Toreador from the care she puts into her looks and her general attitude... but I don't know. Is she? ;)


	4. Power Play -Part Two

**[Iris]**

Getting into Gallery Noir had been easy.

All Iris had to do was look deep into the lone security guard’s eyes and Dominate him into letting her in.

There was no other way, she told her troubled conscience. He did not accept her bribe and he was going to report her and call for backup if she didn’t speak directly to his mind. But… _Look at you_ , came the bitter thought. _Becoming the thing you hate. More adept at it every day –you may even have a talent for being a_ monster _._

Iris paused inside the empty, eerily quiet gallery. There were no supernatural presences to attack her there, unlike with the Ocean Hotel. In a way, it was almost worse.

Because when she wasn’t fighting anything else, Iris was fighting herself.

The reflective surfaces all around each showed a different angle of her new and improved form. Skin beautiful and cold like marble, hair effortlessly shiny. It was an attractive image, but it wasn’t really _her_. She did not belong with the dark. She was never supposed to nurse fangs past her lips. To _thirst_ for human blood.

The hunter knife in her palm suddenly weighted too heavily. A sense of shame washed over her as she gazed down at its pristine gleam. It was an object forged under the light, sworn to banish the darkness. A symbol of purity. Instead, it was being held by an impure creature, about to be used for a questionable cause.

 _Could there be something paranormal about these paintings?_ Iris wondered, once she reached the exhibition. The thought was preferable to Jeanette somehow knowing about her past.

Green eyes roamed around the wide space. From the polished dark tiles, to the decorated, golden stands every stunning painting rested upon. They each depicted a scene from Cain’s life, starting from him killing his brother and being eternally cursed as punishment for it.

Iris halfheartedly drew the knife across the four canvases present. 

After she’d ruined the last one, however, it became apparent something was... off.

Paintings weren’t supposed to bleed.

And even if, in the messed-up world she found herself in, they somehow did… the blood wasn’t supposed to meet in the middle of the room and coagulate into a sort-of humanoid form.

Iris immediately lowered her stance into a crouch, observing the birth of the strange creature.

It made much more sense, in that moment, why Jeanette had given her the silver knife. Then again, with the intent behind the so-called favor suddenly clear, perhaps the weapon should not have been given at all.

Jeanette was mad at her for not handing over the pendant. She sent her to the Gallery knowing about the Blood Guardian and quite possibly hoping she’d never have to see her face again.

 _Not as pretty on the inside as she is on the outside. Noted._ Iris mused.

But she had a very real problem in her hands before she could deal with the upset Malkavian elder.

The blood-being lunged at her. Iris slipped right under its claws, slashing at its back as she slid away. It didn’t do much, for it didn’t physically hinder the monster. _Shit_. She inwardly cursed. The scent of blood wasn’t letting her focus. Her throat was suddenly too dry. Painfully tight.

_Come on, you’re stronger than this!_

Being close to that thing was torture. Iris moved in and away in rapid attacks, yet the creature was starting to recognize her patterns –and at the third attempt to close the distance between them, its claws extended, piercing through her shoulder.

 _Damn!_ She hissed, using Fortitude to block its next attack so she wouldn’t lose a limb. Locked in deadly proximity as they were, with one of the Guardian‘s hands still stuck inside her, Iris saw, past the pain, the perfect opportunity. She willed all of her inhuman strength into the next move…

And slashed its head clean _off_.

“Good riddance.” she spat as the blood drained into a puddle on the floor, then slowly vanished to nothingness, leaving not a single trace behind.

Emeralds looked down at the healing wound on her shoulder and the second jacket she’d ruined for the Voerman sisters in the span of two nights.

 _I’ve had it with them._ Came the angry thought.

Something, however, didn’t sit right with Iris about the vandalism she’d just caused. Weighted by a guilty conscience once more, she reached into her inside pocket, took out her wallet and approached the Charity Box. The money she left wasn’t nearly enough for the damage she’d caused, but she hoped it would still be used for a good cause.

Another huff escaped her lips. 

_Fucking vampires._

...

On her way to the Asylum, Iris had paid a visit to a dumpster and her respects to her jacket.

She was the very picture of a storm about to break out, once she stepped past the doors of the club. Cal met her eyes with his usual unpleasantness, but something inside him visibly cowered at the fury in her own. Prey, realising its place before the predator.

The elevator took the fledgling to the upper floor. She impatiently stepped out, walked right up to the threshold of the Voerman sisters’ shared office...

Ice met her gaze, in the black, powersuit-clad form of Therese.

The woman could freeze hell over with a single glare, if the one she was skewering Iris with was any indication. The younger Kindred’s rage was instantly reduced to low-sizzling coals, because why in the _world_ was the Baron looking like she wanted to cut her in half?

“ _You_.” Therese hissed. The word held more venom than it could possibly withstand.

And Iris realized, too late, what her transgression was.

“What were you _thinking_?! Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

 _The museum._ Iris wanted to drop her face into her hands in both frustration and surrender. Meanwhile, the Baron’s heels clicked as she advanced, menacing like an avalanche. “I—”

“ _Silence_.” she said, tone as deadly as the blade of a guillotine. “I should have expected you’d succumb to Jeanette’s influence like all the others. But how _dare_ you!” With Therese towering over her in her dark heels, even though they were about the same height, Iris knew her chances of survival weren’t looking good.

It occurred to her to lie. To deny it. To try and calm the Baron down. But if she was going to go out, she thought, might as well do it with a bang.

“And what _could_ I possibly do?!” she talked back, contrary to what every instinct yelled at her to do. “Do you know what it’s like, being a mistake everyone wants to get rid of? I’m trying to prove myself an asset to the Camarilla so I can keep breathing, you think I can say ‘no’ to the Baron’s _sister_ without consequences?”

Therese seemed ready to rip her apart with her bare hands, the way her jaw clenched and fingers curled… but she took a deep breath, instead. Adjusted her glasses, looked away then back at her. Iris hadn’t dared dream she’d be borderline understanding.

“This in _no_ way excuses what to did to my museum.” The Baron stated. “But. I suppose you make a rational point.”

Iris reached into her pocket and took out the pendant from the haunted grounds. “This is from the Ocean Hotel.” The object was presented like a peace offering.

The very tips of Therese’s fingers brushed her palm as she took it. Cold, even for a Kindred. _Cold like the rest of her._

“Excellent.” she said. “I’ll take this. However…” Iris braced herself for what was to come. The way the blonde beauty trailed off wasn’t hinting at the brightest of outcomes. “If you still want me to call off the feud, there is a… slight problem.”

 _Of_ course _there is._ Iris closed her eyes as though in pain.

“I made some idle threats against Jeanette before you arrived. She took them quite seriously and is avoiding me. If Tung hears of this, which he most certainly already has, there is no way he will believe I am willing to overlook his misdeeds.” Therese spoke, perfectly business-like. “So, in order to get what you need, you have to make my sister forgive me, first.”

Iris frowned. “I don’t think I’m Jeanette’s favorite person right now.” she said. “Actually, I’m certain of it.”

“It doesn’t matter. You will go on my behalf, since I’m too busy to do so myself. All you have to do is give her my apology and explain everything was said in the heat of the moment.” Therese replied. Once again, the fledgling did not have a lot of ground to refuse. “I arranged to meet her in the Surfside Diner, just across the club. Wait for her in the back booths, near the phone.”

“Alright.” Iris let out a weak sigh.

_Once again, my life is not exactly brimming with options…_

She turned and left without another word.

…

The Diner was empty by the time she arrived. Iris checked her watch –it read four in the morning.

The scent of coffee and fresh pastries was strong in the air, although not as pleasing in her unlife as it had once been. At the ding of the bell over the door, a lady in her early fifties stepped out of the back and towards the counter. She was wearing an expression so kind it gave the Kindred pause.

“Hello, dear. May I take your order?” she asked. Iris could tell by the lines under her eyes she was exhausted, yet trying not to show it.

“Hello.” _Grace_ , the name on her tag read. “Just a coffee. Black.”

“I haven’t seen you around these parts.” the woman commented as she prepared her order.

“Yes, I’m new here.” Iris said. “Hopefully won’t be staying long, either.”

“Santa Monica not to your liking?” Grace gave her that angelic smile again. The night-dweller did not want to ponder on which member of her broken family it reminded her of. “Give it some time. It will grow on you.”

“Like a weed, maybe.” Iris gave a wry smirk and a “Thank you.” as she accepted her drink. A generous tip was left on the counter, on her way to the back booth.

She waited for several minutes.

But when the door opened, the bell jingling once more… it wasn’t Jeanette’s blonde head that came into the Diner. Instead, five men walked in, their expressions unpleasant in a way that went beyond a person’s mood. Iris’ senses warned of _danger_.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the silver sheen of a pistol tucked into one’s pants. And Grace was once again coming out to greet her customers—

Iris did not so much decide to move as she _reacted_. 

Faster than she’d ever been before, she vaulted over the counter and pushed Grace towards the back room, just as the armed men aimed their guns at her. “Stay back!” she commanded, her voice booming over the first shot.

The middle-aged woman screamed.

Iris’ nerves strained in her body. Her clan’s blood pounded and gnawed at her to rip the mortals apart for their audacity to attack a superior being. Her inner Beast was licking its fangs, eager to draw blood. She wanted to _kill_ them –and she knew that she easily _could_.

She wanted to…

But.

 _That’s not who you are._ She reminded herself. 

Iris leapt out like a shadow, the back of her hand cracking against the first man’s jaw. It was an instant knock-out. Using vitae to buff her speed, she grabbed the next one’s gun and smashed it against his face, then threw his limp body at the rest. The second they lost their balance, they had also lost their consciousness from her calculated hits on their necks.

Iris’ head snapped towards the whimpering coming from the back room.

She immediately dashed to Grace, who was sitting down, shaking, wrapped up into a small ball. Her heart broke at the sight. Softly, slowly, Iris lowered her body down, in front of the woman.

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright. These guys have been dealt with.” was said in her most gentle voice. “It’s all okay. It’ll be okay. You’re safe.”

Yet the lady was in shock. She couldn’t hear her. Iris placed her hands on Grace’s, holding them tight. Wet, wide brown eyes looked up into her own.

The Kindred used her powers to brush the faintest trace of calm over her mind. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”

“How did you…” the other woman began to ask.

“I’ve been training in martial arts since I was a kid. Comes in handy, doesn’t it.” Iris did not completely lie. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She easily helped the mortal stand. “Do you think you can call the police? Don’t worry –these guys will be out cold for a while.”

Grace mutely nodded.

“You sure?” Iris asked. Another nod.

Then, the sound of a phone ringing at the back made the older woman jump. Her heart was pounding too fast in her chest. Unhealthily fast. Her blood was rushing all over her body, calling out to Iris’ inner monster like a beacon to ships at night, but she did her best to ignore it.

The fledgling didn’t speak when she answered the phone. Whoever was on the other end had crossed her final line.

_Fuck Therese. Fuck Jeanette. Fuck this whole rotten Kindred society._

_“…Is this you, Iris?”_ Therese’s voice came from the other line.

“Surprised that I’m still here?” she replied, her tone darkening as it went.

 _“I heard the gunshots from here. I’m terribly sorry. My sister was mad at you for not taking part in her designs –but I will make sure this never happens again.”_ the Baron promised. _“Drop by. We’ll take care of this Tung business.”_

 _Yeah right, you bitch._ Iris seethed. “You must take me for a massive fool if you think I’ll come over there for you to finish the job yourself.”

Yet it was not Therese who spoke to her, next.

 _“She’s crazy! Help!”_ Jeanette’s voice cried into the speaker, before the line went dead.

Iris took a step back, numb.

It had to be a trick. There was no way in hell she was going to fall for it a third time. Whatever shit the two sisters had going on, they could take care of it themselves. Jeanette could shove her charm where she knew best and Therese could choke on her own stiffness. It _wasn’t_ her problem. Not anymore.

She had tried. Chances were the Prince would find a way to kill her, anyway. Maybe that was the reason he sent her to Santa Monica to begin with.

And yet.

_What if…?_

Someone calling at Iris for help, Kindred or Kine, struck at her most vulnerable chord. Her fingers gripped at the telephone, nearly breaking the device from the pressure. She couldn’t just ignore her if Jeanette truly _was_ in danger.

In the end, Iris decided, if it was her Humanity that would get her killed, it wasn’t such a bad way to go.

“Grace, I’ll come back to check on you tomorrow.” she promised as she headed out.

_If I’m not ashes by then._

…

Iris dashed into the Asylum and straight into the elevator.

Without knocking, she barged into Therese’s office, the knife Jeanette had given her earlier still at her belt—

To find the Baron aiming a gun towards the back room.

“Therese, stop it!” she shouted, readying her body to leap to the other sister’s rescue if she had to…

Until.

Until the elder Kindred turned around. And, seeing her without the glasses, her subtly heterochrome eyes on display, one side of her face sporting Jeanette’s running, goth makeup and signature pigtail… Iris arrived to a startling realization. 

Therese and Jeanette…

Were the same person.

_Oh… shit._


	5. Power Play -Part Three

**[Iris]**

In hindsight, she should have had her suspicions.

_Clan Malkavian._

It was widely known in the Kindred society of Santa Monica that Jeanette was the Childe of the Baron herself. Which could only mean, if one twin was a Malkavian, so was the other. For the flirty elder, that much was obvious. She wore the quirkiness of her clan like a badge of honor. Therese, however, was so perfectly composed that, even knowing of her blood, one would still somehow think her a Ventrue at heart. 

Iris had certainly made that mistake.

She was forced to reconsider when she found herself staring down the barrel of the gun grasped in the Baron’s hand, while the two personalities quite literally fought for control over a single body.

“I’m sorry it has to end this way, you know. You seemed promising, at first.” Therese said, the pistol in her grip held tight, unwavering. Her finger was applying sturdy pressure onto the trigger, enough for Iris to hear every agonizing strain of the gear within, just one hair’s breadth away from firing. “But you’ve been stained by my sister’s schemes. And now, I’ll make sure she never double-crosses me again.”

Green eyes studied the weapon. She didn’t have enough vitae to activate Fortitude and not have to worry about the bullets, even for precious few seconds. Just the bare minimum to spare for buffing her speed, without going mad from thirst afterwards. _I only have one shot at this, don’t I…_

“Please, Therese, you have to think this through.” she said.

“She’ll kill us both!” Jeanette’s higher-pitched tone came next, adding even further shock value to the entire scene for Iris. “Save me and I’ll help you find Bertram, I swear!”

The fledgling was at a loss. Fear for her own life clouded her thoughts. Uncertainty on how to act. Iris was used to fighting according to her moral compass, but she had no idea what right and wrong were, in such a position. Logic battled with emotion inside her; claimed she had no reason to worry over someone who tried to kill her _three_ times.

Only…

Jeanette was the first friendly face Iris saw in the Kindred society. The first real smile directed her way, in the gloom that had become her unlife. Therese had been the first elder who gave her credit for her achievements, who showed understanding, rather than the sheer disgust most others regarded her with. 

“Shut up, Jeanette!” Therese’s voice cut through once more, like the downward slash of a sword. “I warned you to stay away from Tung. He’s turned you against me! Me, who always looked out for you! I never wanted it to end like this– _you_ forced my hand!”

“ _You_ never gave me credit for anything! I was always the one calling the shots! Bertram was dancing on _my_ leash.” Jeanette’s side replied.

“Even further reason to rid the night of you, deviant, backstabbing _whore_.” the sheer venom in her tone dropped the temperature in the room several degrees.

“Oh, you’d love for the world to think you’re a Saint, Therese. Or should I say… daddy’s little girl.” Jeanette’s lip curled into a cruel, bitter smirk. “Iris, do you want to know just how depraved the Baron of Santa Monica really is?” The fledgling’s shoulders went rigid at the mention of her name. “When she thought I was asleep, I used to hear father come in at night. I heard him whisper how much he loved her in her ear… before he—”

“That’s it, you’re _dead_!” Therese snapped.

“No!” Iris cried as soon as the gun shifted direction.

She didn’t know if Therese was planning to shoot herself and she didn’t _want_ to know. Something inside told her only a terrible outcome could come from it. That the Baron would only end up splintering herself even further.

Iris _moved_.

She crashed into the elder Kindred like a speeding car, a thunderclap, fingers an iron grip around her delicate wrist in an effort to make her drop the gun.

A terrible miscalculation on her part. Her biceps _burned_ with the effort to keep her contained, yet it was a losing battle. The second the other woman pressed the barrel straight between her eyes, completely overpowering her, she realized why fledglings didn’t dare act against elders. They would all too easily be crushed underfoot.

“Shoot me if you must, but deep down you know this isn’t what you want.” Iris looked defiantly into her eyes, green to steely blue. “You got this far together. I don’t know what went wrong along the way, but it’s not too late to fix it.”

Therese’s finger squeezed the trigger. Iris could hear its ominous creak uncomfortably loud in her ears. But… something wavered in those heterochrome eyes. “How could I ever trust her again?”

“Trust me? Who could trust _you_ after what happened with daddy?” Jeanette’s voice came. “Remember? When he came home drunk that day and mistook me for you. And… ended up with his brains blown _all_ over the silly clown carpet.”

An image of Therese’s life and what it must have been like formed at the forefront of Iris’ mind. Cruel, terrible and abhorrent. A lot of things clicked into place, then. Her emotionless façade. Her need for control. Her split personality.

It didn’t excuse all of her actions, but at the same time, Iris couldn’t reach for any trace of anger left in herself towards the elder. Perhaps because she knew, all too well, that scars left by a broken, abusing home never healed. The passage of time left them open, weeping. Bleeding.

“No matter what happened, the two of you need each other to move on.” Iris said. “Think of how powerful you would be if you worked as one. No longer the other’s weakness, but her strength. All of Santa Monica would be at your feet.”

The gun eased its cold kiss against her forehead. “If she would stop acting like a child.” Therese growled.

“If she would stop treating me like one!” Jeanette hissed back.

“There must have been a time when you got along. Please, search for the thing that unites you and go back to that.” Iris capitalized on the ground she gained.

“There… was a time…” the Baron trailed off.

“Father wouldn’t let us out of the house much, if at all. We only had each other, then. Made up our own little worlds and ruled over them. That was… long before we grew apart.” Jeanette spoke.

The Baron’s grip on the pistol went slack for barely a millisecond during the reminiscing. Iris steeled her nerves, grabbed the gun and pushed herself as far away as possible. Therese hissed at her, a dark, chilly sound, but her eyes told a different story. They looked almost _relieved_ to have lost the weapon.

“It’s better this way.” Iris said, emptying the clip for good measure. “I’ll return it to you tomorrow.” Speaking of which, dawn was fast approaching. She didn’t have to see the time to know; she could feel the fatigue crawling and spreading across her form.

“Take it.” Therese waved dismissively with her hand. “I never want to look at it again.”

Iris gave a nod and moved towards the door. The two sisters evidently still had much to discuss –and she shouldn’t tempt her luck any further for one night.

Jeanette’s voice made her halt. “Tung is hiding inside an abandoned oil tank, near the gas station. I’ll tell him to expect a visitor –and be _extra_ nice.” Iris recognized the gratitude in the gesture. “But keep your pretty tongue tied about what happened tonight, darling, or we’ll have to—”

“— _Kill_ you.” Therese’s interjection made the threat stick ten times worse.

“Fourth time may even be the charm.” A smirk that couldn’t be helped nor held back graced Iris’ lips. “But don’t worry. I didn’t see anything.” 

The Baron’s door closed with a soft click behind her back.

…

The following night was rainy and cold.

Iris left her modest –overstatement of the year— motel room and headed out, towards the abandoned oil tank. The drizzle’s crash onto her waterproof jacket was almost too loud to her inhuman senses, though oddly calming, in its own way. Everything smelled earthly, sharp and pure. She could appreciate the serenity water seemed to bestow upon nature, but not the feel of her wet pants sticking to her skin.

On her way, Iris stopped outside the Surfside Diner to check on Grace. The woman was wearing the same patient smile on her face as she tended to her few customers. The only scar of the previous night left on her was the fatigue heavily weighting her movements, the dark circles under her warm eyes. Iris approached the door as though to greet the woman, but quickly paused with her hand hovering over the handle.

 _Not smart._ She chastised herself. _Getting attached to this place, to these people, will lead you nowhere._ Indeed, if Iris was to finish her job for the Prince that night, there would be no returning to Santa Monica. It was best if Grace forgot her face. Best if the fledgling did not think how her smile reminded her of her mother’s.

Nothing good came to the people who had associated with her in life. All signs were pointing that nothing good would come to them in unlife, either. Wherever she went, trouble always followed.

Grace seemed to sense her stare behind the glass walls. She turned and looked into the night, but Iris was already a retreating, dark silhouette by then.

Finally at the abandoned tank, the Kindred searched for an opening and ducked inside, her hood pushed off in one swift motion. There was someone waiting for her in the darkness—

Her vision focused onto a grotesque visage that could belong to none other than a Nosferatu. Skin littered with rashes, a bald, deformed head, too-wide nostrils, ears pointed like a devil. And a pair of beady, crimson eyes analysing her every move.

“You must be Betram Tung.” she said. _You better be— you were hell to find._

“The one and only. And don’t bother with introductions, fledgling; I know who you are.” the Nosferatu spoke confidently.

“My reputation precedes me, I see.” Iris went for a smirk that ended up as a grimace, at that. If only it was a good reputation.

“Of course. News travels down the Kindred grapevine like wildfire. And that courtroom spat between LaCroix and Nines Rodriguez, with you in the middle… how _interesting_.” A low chuckle. “So. What did you need?”

Iris’ eyes hardened, getting right down to business. “Your help. I’m here on a mission to destroy the newest warehouse of the Sabbat, just outside this Barony. Mercurio told me you have a way to get me inside, as well as all the equipment I need.”

Tung gave her a deeply scrutinizing look. “I can take you there, alright. But once you’re in, you’re on your own.” She nodded. Hadn’t been naïve enough to expect any help to begin with. “I have a storage of weapons and vests right over here.” He pointed towards an alcove tucked off to a dark corner.

The weaponry there was arranged neatly, as though the elder had been expecting her. Iris remembered Jeanette’s words about him greeting her ‘ _extra nice’_. Wordlessly, she began gearing up. A bulletproof vest underneath her jacket, protection for her knees and shins, pistols with attached silencers and knives strapped to her belt.

“The explosives have to be planted in the middle office for the whole structure to come down… but be warned, it’s heavily guarded. Like, _heavily_.” Bertram warned.

“With Sabbat?” she asked, zipping her jacket back up.

“With humans.” He seemed to take great interest in her reaction. Iris tried not to give one, yet something in her gaze must have given her away. “Most, unfortunate enough to be in your position, would rejoice at the news. You’d rather that place was filled with Kindred at least several decades older than you?” It felt more like a prod, than an actual question.

_Actually… yes._

Iris gave a subtle sneer. “Of course not. It’s just that killing humans isn’t my forte.”

“From what I’ve seen, no. It really isn’t.” Tung’s broken lip curled into the mockery of a smirk.

“Ah. So, you were the one I could sense stalking me from the shadows. Obfuscated.” was said simply. At first, she had guessed it was one of the Prince’s men, watching for any sign of Masquerade violation… or any excuse to end her life at the first misstep.

A barking laugh escaped the Nosferatu. “Such a bold accusation! But you do seem strangely bold for a newbie…” Red eyes narrowed at her. “And you clearly have combat experience and a good eye for weapons. Ex-military?” he asked.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Iris gave her most charming escape-smile. “Different life and all that.”

“I can respect that, fledgling.” he said. “But nothing stays hidden in the Kindred society long.”

Iris chose not to dwell too long on the meaning behind his words, what he truly knew or suspected. She couldn’t waste her energy on worrying about that, when she had a ‘mission impossible’ on her hands. The young Kindred lingered at the opening leading outside. When it didn’t seem like her guide was willing to move, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

Tung took a few steps towards her, clearly troubled by something. Even more so than before. He pondered on whether or not to speak his mind. “You know, Jeanette has taken a liking to you.”

“Odd way of showing it, but who am I to judge.” Iris chuckled, meeting his searching eyes as though she had nothing to hide.

“It was strange –the way she talked about you. She doesn’t throw the word ‘friend’ around easily.” Tung commented. “And any friend of Jeanette’s is a friend of mine…” he trailed off. “So, I really ought to tell you; the Prince royally screwed you over with this task.”

Iris huffed. _Don’t I know it._

“One fledgling alone can’t take on something like this by themselves. You don’t even know the extent of your Disciplines, or your healing. He wants you to fail. He wants you to _die_.”

Green eyes regarded him casually. “I know.”

Tung almost seemed baffled for a moment. “You don’t have to do it. Being Caitiff for a while is not the end of the world. Your clan _will_ want you back, once this scandal dies down.”

“I don’t think they will.” Iris said. And with her clan, especially, acting against her, she had zero hope of achieving her goals. 

“Don’t be stupid. Look at yourself. Toreadors value beauty above everything else. They won’t _bear_ to leave you out of the clan. Elders will want you on their arm during events, to flaunt you around. Give it some time, instead of courting death to gain their favor right away.” It was solid advice. Very solid and deeply appreciated.

There was just one _tiny_ part where Tung had it wrong.

“Unless… Jeanette was wrong. And you’re not a Toreador.” He was beginning to get it.

Iris offered him an amused, sad smile. Then, he realized.

“…You’re a _Ventrue_.”

…

Ventrue.

The clan of vampire royalty; kings, queens and everything arrogant in-between. Iris wouldn’t have chosen to be Embraced in their stuck-up ranks… but then again, Iris would not have chosen to be Embraced at _all_.

She didn’t exactly have a say in the matter. Her Sire, whose name she was later informed had been Layal, had held a grudge and apparently, a massive deathwish. Although the fledgling could not fathom why an ages-old Ventrue would so ardently seek to turn her, knowing the consequences. _Punishment, perhaps? Guess now I’ll never know._ Because her Sire was ashes scattered in the wind or at the bottom of some dumpster —the irony— and Iris was none-too-saddened about that fact.

She had bigger things to stress over. Like the suicide mission assigned to her.

Tung had asked questions, of course, along the way. The fledgling had side-stepped them all with the fabled swiftness of the Toreador clan that everyone, somehow, immediately assumed she belonged to. Iris let them think whatever they wished, in no rush to correct them. A fallen, exiled Toreador sounded better than a downfallen, outcast Ventrue.

Bertram Tung led her past the abandoned railway, to the opening he had found into the warehouse. “From here on out, you’re on your own.” he said. “Best of luck, kiddo.”

“Yeah, see you around.” Iris cast him a smirk. Negative thoughts were said to bring negative results. Not that she believed in any of that energy-bullshit, but she needed all the positivity the universe had to give, in order to pull through.

“Well if you do, it’s my treat.” was spoken in a ‘it was nice knowing you’ way.

Green eyes rolled. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”

Tung let out a low laugh before he Obfuscated into the shadows.

Iris’ expression turned cold and focused. She slipped from abandoned wagon to wagon, checking the perimeter for patrols, potential entry and escape points. _I’ll only have two minutes after I plant the explosives. I need a clear way out._

Luckily, the Sabbat hadn’t given their security a thorough check. They’d let their money do the talking, putting in as many armed thugs as the space could fit… but quantity did not equal quality in that equation.

The men had taken comfort in their numbers. They were relaxed, drinking beers and sharing stories about women, the guards nowhere near the spots they were meant to keep an eye on.

“I’m gonna take a piss.” one of them announced, walking towards Iris’ hiding spot, far away from the noisy crowd.

In the blink of an eye, she jumped in front of him, covered his mouth and Dominated him into keeping it shut. “You are on my side. You will act as though nothing is out of the norm.” she said. “Go into the offices and make everyone there get out. Tell them you received orders from the Sabbat to take attendances.”

His pupils constricted. She knew he had fallen under her thrall. As he walked inside to do his part, Iris snuck into the warehouse from a broken window on the second floor. The rain was picking up again and combined with the laughter from below, it was enough to cover any sounds she may have made during her climb.

 _Perfect_. She thought.

The rafters were the ideal pathway to the office.

The only problem was, there was a thug stationed right in front of the entrance to the corridor Iris needed to get to –and if he shouted for help, it was all over. There was no way to sneak past him unnoticed unless she killed him...

Iris was suddenly very jealous of the Nosferatu and Malkavian ability to Obfuscate.

But then, an even bigger problem came.

Because three pairs of glowing red eyes stood at the main entrance. Their growls, inhuman, beastly, silenced all sounds of celebration. The Sabbat were there –and Iris was trapped into the wolves’ den with the salivating beasts.

Wide emerald eyes looked down, at the guard below her, sweating, trembling. He took a few steps forward just as the Sabbat grabbed one of the men by the throat and flung him across the room for exemplification. Iris could hear, painfully clearly, the crack of his bones. He wasn’t dead, but he was undoubtedly permanently damaged. Just like that. _Humans can be broken, just like that._

Her fangs grit at the sheer _injustice_.

Her blood boiled to jump down and rip the monsters to _shreds_ …

But she knew the limits of her own strength.

“Who the fuck told you to bring everyone down here?! Why aren’t you worms working?!” the second vampire demanded.

“The Sabbat wanted to take attendances—” the Dominated guy began to speak. One second later, his head was no longer attached to his body. The guard underneath Iris was overcome by the urge to puke. He ducked into the offices to do so… and she finally had the opening she needed.

The Ventrue buffed her speed to its maximum to leap down and go after him, unnoticed. Ignoring the mess he’d made of the floor, she grabbed his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

“Don’t make a sound.” she said. “Wait here for further instructions.”

It was strange for her to feel so much adrenaline without a heartbeat. Yet Iris willed her body firmly under her mind’s control and went into the final office. Once the explosives were planted and the countdown had began, she synchronized her watch with the timer.

_Two minutes._

There was no escape unless she violently made one. Her plan to keep everyone alive was ruined. She couldn’t save the humans present if she saved herself. Iris shut her eyes tightly. There was only one way…

 _Monster._ Part of her accused. _Do what you must to survive._ Another said.

The latter won. Once more, she looked into the Dominated guard’s eyes.

“Take my pistol and these grenades.” she commanded. “Aim for the Sabbat and give them _hell_.”

The enthralled thug walked outside, pulled the safety pin ring… and cast the first grenade straight towards the vampires. They were fast enough to kick it away –but not too far to save all three of them.

_One down._

The explosion rocked the entire building. Shards flew everywhere in a hail of steel.

Iris ran past her thrall like a shadow, just as everyone left alive opened fire on him.

A cacophony of gunshots and cries were left behind her as she burst out of the nearest window.

 _One minute._

But a pair of red eyes had caught her retreat. The Sabbat monster was faster, she realized, as the bulky vampire suddenly landed in front of her, blocking her path, outside. Rain mercilessly beat down onto them. Both Kindred hissed and circled the other.

“Camarilla _bitch_.”

“ _Abomination_.” she growled back.

They lunged for each other at the same time. Iris had learned much from her clash with Therese. Attempting anything head-on was a sure-fire way to get herself killed. Just as the Sabbat’s claws moved for her neck, she ducked underneath him and slashed from belly to thigh, with the knife Jeanette had given her. A hunter’s weapon gutting a fiend. It was almost poetically fitting.

The other vampire howled like a beast gone feral. He pivoted on the spot and went for her neck—

Iris could have easily dodged, if she buffed her speed to do so.

Except, her body froze on the spot. A wave of nausea flared in her brain. A wave of pure flame. Her throat felt like it was _burning_ from the thirst. It was a craving so deep, she felt she would lose her mind over a single drop of blood. And then she realized; she had overused her powers for one night.

Claws sank into her shoulders, knocking her down. Crooked fangs gleamed in the dim light, too close to her face. That was the end— the Sabbat was going to have her head.

But.

 _Three seconds._ her watch read.

Iris willed all of her vitae into one last Discipline. Without it, she was headed straight for her final death. Just as the explosion went off, rocking the very ground, she hardened her body with Fortitude into a ball of steel.

Both Kindred were sent flying back from the blast, like broken ragdolls.

…

Green eyes blinked open to a scenery of wildfire and destruction. Everything was burning. Everything was wrecked.

Dozens of people were dead –and it was all her _fault_.

Iris was too drained to move. Her skin suffered a few burns, but nothing too serious. She would survive, if she could stand. If she could _feed_. But in her condition, she could do none of those things by herself.

 _I can’t believe that asshole LaCroix got what he wanted. What a pathetic way to die._ she thought. She couldn’t take pride in the fact she dragged three Sabbat down with her. Not when she had vowed to bring _all_ of them.

The sound of light footsteps reached her ears, but Iris could be wrong, delirious from thirst. She allowed her head to drop right back down, among the splinters and wreckage and soil. It was over.

Until.

“My, you _do_ look like you’ve had a wild night, duckling.” A familiar voice came from above. Iris would recognize that nickname, said in that lilt, anywhere.

“Jeanette…?” she tried to say, but coughs wrecked her body. Her lungs were filled with smoke and dirt.

A cool hand guided hers around lean shoulders. Jeanette was _much_ stronger than she looked, Iris realized in her haze. Emerald eyes drooped shut. She smelled… different than everything around them. Nothing like those other monsters, reeking of blood and death. She smelled _good_. Vanilla shampoo, a natural crispness of nightshade she shared with Therese, subtle underneath a famous, expensive perfume Iris could not recognize in the state she was in.

“Shush, little bird.” she said. “Survival first. ‘Thank-you’s later.”

But Iris couldn’t hear her words clearly.

Her eyes were shutting…

The world was fading to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a more dynamic twist to the Therese-Jeanette fight. Despite how they both treated Iris like another pawn to the game of getting back at each other, she put herself in harm's way to protect them both and was detrimental to their reconciliation. A fact the sisters will remember from now on...
> 
> The Ventrues are curious to see if Iris is really deserving of a place in their glorious clan, while LaCroix just hates her guts -sees her as a mistake he needs to correct- and wants her out of the picture. Hence why he sent her on a suicide mission. Little did he know, Jeanette's there to watch out for her bae. 
> 
> The real fun begins with their interactions next chapter ;)


	6. Isolated, Alone and Apart

**[Jeanette]**

Iris was healed but still out cold.

Heterochrome eyes observed her from their position at the corner of the heart-shaped bed. Raven hair was spread like the veil of night over the hot red of Jeanette’s pillows. The paleness of her skin, shining as though caressed by moonlight even when it wasn’t present, contrasted the blood-colored sheets. Even the unbeating veins at her neck, leading down to collarbones defined from exercise, looked too pretty to be real. A piece of art, rather than a living –well, in a sense— being.

She looked right at home in the Malkavian’s bed, too. _Exactly_ where she should be, except a little less asleep and a tad more excited. Curved lips parted. Body arched. _Flushed_.

A slow, not-entirely-innocent smile graced Jeanette’s lips at the thought.

Iris’ hand moved; a bit higher up the mattress. She nuzzled her face deeper into the pillow, like a cat. Jeanette wanted to play with her, in very many ways, wave something in front of her face just to watch her sleepily swat it away. She opted for running a fingernail lightly up the inside of her forearm, to her elbow. Her skin was really soft. Rather than tickled, Iris curled closer to her. _Cute._

Then she seemed to realize it wasn’t normal for her to wake up being touched by something. Her eyes squeezed further shut before they snapped open, stark green freezing at the sight of Jeanette.

“Ah!” Iris gasped, clutching the sheets tighter to her lingerie-clad chest.

“Rise and shine, kitten!” Jeanette greeted dramatically.

“What are you doing here?” the fledgling asked, startled as an ambushed deer.

“In my room?” A slender eyebrow was raised, half flirty, half amused. “…on my _bed_?”

Wide emerald eyes darted about their surroundings. Iris reconsidered the question. “…what am _I_ doing here?”

“Having fun, I hope.” Jeanette gave her most delicious smile.

“No, I’m freaking out.” Iris replied. “I remember almost dying. _Again_. And then you…” a pause. “Why did you save me?”

“Why not?” Jeanette shrugged.

Iris sat upright on the bed, giving her a very doubtful look. “Want me to make a list of reasons?” she asked. “That was exactly what the Prince intended, for one.”

Jeanette raised a hand between them at the mention of LaCroix. “Wait. Listen.” she said. “Do you hear this?” she tilted her head as if to listen closely, while Iris gave her a confused gesture. The whispers were gossiping, of course, as always, but that was beside the point she was trying to make. A non-Malkavian wouldn’t get it. “This is the sound of me not giving half a flying fuck about what the Prince intends.”

A light chuckle bubbled out of the fledgling’s chest. She shook her head, continuing: “It was the best outcome for _you_ , considering what I know…”

 _Oh._ _Actually…_ the Malkavian didn’t think of that.

She didn’t like thinking everything through beforehand –that was boring as all hell and Therese’s thing— so she just spontaneously decided it was a pity for the newbie to die without Jeanette first answering the question plaguing her mind, of whether her lips really were as soft as they looked. For science.

And for her clan, because they really were dying to know.

“I thought you didn’t see anything.” Jeanette recalled Iris’ words from two nights ago.

“I mean… yeah. Absolutely nothing.” she played along. “And last but not least, _you_ tried to get me killed. _Three_ times.” Iris held up three fingers for good measure.

Jeanette theatrically pressed a hand to her chest. “You wound me, duckling. I never fail at the same thing thrice.” was stated simply. “And I’m pretty sure two of those were Therese. Or was it one and a half…?” she wondered aloud. “I really can’t remember.”

Iris gave her a baffled look. “What _difference_ does it make?” she asked.

“ _Huge_ difference. It was _one_ time –and maybe another half— where I mostly did it out of spite.” Jeanette explained.

She was the one who saw the fledgling first, she was the one who called dibs. Therese couldn’t just come out of her cave of frost and gain her loyalty over her. That wasn’t how it worked. With most people. It had really _irked_ her, how Iris remained so true to her prude stick of a sister, when Jeanette was basically pressed against her and promising even _more_.

Iris was definitely into her, it was clear in her eyes, but she didn’t give her the pendant. And the fact a newbie said ‘no’ to her, a word she wasn’t used to hearing… well. It made her a little bit vengeful.

Just a little bit, though.

“I wanted you to take a few lashings, then be hated by Therese for the rest of your existence, not end up _completely_ dead. That’s why I gave you the knife.” she smiled, charming as a dream.

“Oh, _thank_ you.” Iris rolled her pretty eyes, tone dripping with sarcasm. “As if being hated by Therese doesn’t mean I’ll end up ‘completely dead’, eventually.”

Jeanette stopped to consider it for a moment. “You’re welcome, duckling –and yes, good point.”

“Do you even know how powerful the Blood Guardian was?” Iris asked.

Heterochrome eyes looked to the left, then to the right. Then, back to vivid green. “Okay, look. I can admit we had our ups and downs. And by that, I mean you had the downs.” Jeanette began. “But we can draw the line on those and start with the ups, from now on.”

The newbie gave a soft sigh. “Provided no more death missions are on the horizon. I have enough of those from the Prince.”

“Pinky promise.” Jeanette offered her little finger. There was something so captivating about Iris’ features, relaxed in silent laughter as they were, as she curled her own around it.

Their hands dropped back to their respective sides.

“So… where are my clothes?” Iris asked sheepishly.

“In the dumpster, just behind the club.” Jeanette replied. It was _fun_ not trying to tone down the quirkiness of her clan. She could, but then the newbie’s expressions would not shift so endearingly.

“And what am I going to wear?”

“I’d give you some of mine,” Jeanette began. “But then maybe your royal Ventrue blood will start acting up and make you puke on me again, so I’m giving you Therese’s to be safe.”

Iris took a sharp breath and held it. “You… know? Did Tung tell you?” she asked.

 _He knew and he didn’t tell me? Wow, asshole._ Jeanette mused. “No, I found out the hard way, when you were in desperate need of blood last night and couldn’t keep it down. I had to bring up like five different people until you _finally_ bit one that suited your tastes.”

Iris hid her face in her hands. If it was possible for Kindred to blush, she would have turned tomato-red by that point.

“So. Young, natural blondes are your thing, hm?” Jeanette approached her with clothes from Therese’s wardrobe in hand and a _very_ suggestive wink.

The Ventrue couldn’t even meet her eyes as she accepted the black shirt and designer pants in absolute _dismay_.

Jeanette fought against the laugh working its way to her lips. _I am going to have_ so _much fun with you. …at least until your clan calls you back._ After her latest success, it was bound to not be long. The thought soured the elder’s good mood a bit.

“Jeanette…?” Iris asked. “Could you, maybe, not spread the word? That I’m a Ventrue.”

The Malkavian licked her lips. The request was given too sweetly to say no to, only… “Well.” Only there was an entire network of voices in her head who could also hear her own and while there was a chance they may not have caught her thoughts about Iris, she also wasn’t counting on it.

“What? Is it a problem?” the Ventrue inquired innocently.

“No, duckling. This stays between you and me.” Jeanette assured.

While inwardly grimacing.

 _Attention to_ all _crazies! Everything you may or may not have heard right now is highly confidential –keep your pretty little mouths shut about it. …I love you, too loonies._

…

Iris took the following nights regaining her strength, while Jeanette kept an eye on her from the shadows.

Partially because Therese had made her promise to do so, still entirely distrustful of a fledgling holding an elder’s prized secret. But if she had to be entirely honest with herself there was just something deeply intriguing about Iris. Something that went beyond her _very obvious_ good looks.

Jeanette still hadn’t figured out what that was, though. Her Malkavian insight hadn’t yet provided her with any juicy information –unless her favorite color and human food counted as such. She was fine with not knowing, though. She was fine with lounging in the dark, Obfuscated, watching Iris stop to save _every_ single kitten trapped in Santa Monica’s trees.

But really. She was just so _good_ she should have been mind-blowingly _boring_.

Jeanette didn’t usually like good girls.

She liked her, though.

Perhaps the newbie was just hot enough to make even paint drying on a wall look fantastic. Perhaps it was the way she could flirt back with Jeanette, in her unique, subtle fashion, while being entirely _oblivious_ to all the hints the blonde had dropped about getting into bed with her. Or any surface to her liking, really. Perhaps it was the fact no other Kindred, let alone a _Ventrue_ , acted like she did, with the utmost respect towards humans and vampires alike, regardless of their clan or status.

Anyone else in her position would have used Therese’s and Jeanette’s secret for their own benefit by then, either by not-so-accidently letting it slip to a third party or, if they had the balls, by outright blackmailing the Baron. And anyone else in her position, Jeanette would have agreed with her sister was a threat worth _removing_.

Iris wasn’t like anybody she ever met, though.

She was a white anemone in a field of black poppies; entirely alone, entirely unique. Entirely beautiful in her simplicity and the complexity which birthed it.

The fledgling spent most of her nights by a corner at the Surfside Diner, over a cup of black coffee. The middle-aged lady there seemed to have a particular fondness of her –and judging by the soft smiles Iris returned, bright enough to light up ten spaces like that one, the feeling was mutual. She always left a generous tip behind upon leaving.

When she needed to feed, usually outside the Asylum, she was an absolute Toreador in the way she approached the young blonde her Ventrue blood deemed worth having. Iris was all charm and compliments and soft touches to the lucky human’s chin or arm; Jeanette watched with a slight scowl as they all fell into a giddy, giggling mess, in a matter of seconds.

There was something simultaneously erotic and regal in the way she held them as she drank. Pearly white fangs sunk into warm, pliable flesh, drawing that crimson nectar under the haze of its blissful, soul-deep pleasure. Jeanette was swept by the sight. Seduced. Her own fangs ached in response. 

But it was over too quickly.

Iris _never_ drew much. For a fledgling, stopping so early was almost unheard of. The girls barely even got dizzy afterwards; but she _insisted_ on making sure they got home safe. The Malkavian wouldn’t be surprised if she tucked them into bed, as well. Or opposed to the idea of Iris taking _her_ to bed, although with significantly less innocent intentions.

 _Alas._ A light huff escaped Jeanette. She was perched like a gargoyle atop the roof of the building closest to the Asylum, watching Iris pace in the empty street below, anxiously waiting for someone. Interestingly enough, hers weren’t the only pair of eyes curiously tracking the new birdie. Jeanette couldn’t see the other presence nearing her, but she could feel it. It was old and familiar.

“Ah, Bertie. Taken an interest in the pretty duckling, as well?” she asked aloud.

The Nosferatu behind her came out of his invisibility with an audible huff. He could try to sneak up on her until the end of time, only to bathe in failure again and again. “Maybe I’m just here to see _you_.” said his gruff voice.

“Yet your peepers are focused on another girl. Should I be jealous?” Jeanette pressed an overdramatic hand to her chest.

Tung took a step closer, out of the shadows and under the moonlight. The Malkavian had forgotten just _how_ much better he looked in the pitch-black. His was a face that only a mother and a lunatic would love, but there was a good heart underneath all the ugly. “Should _I_?”

Jeanette gave an airy laugh. _Boys. Give them a bit of attention and they get territorial_. “I think _everyone_ should be jealous of that sexy lil’ royal-on-the-rise.” It was true. If she used her assets right she was looking at a _very_ luxurious seat of power, a few decades down the line.

Tung opened his mouth to retort, but Jeanette’s hand sprung into the air, shushing him. Mercurio, the Prince’s ghoul himself, was walking up to Iris, who had suddenly gone statue-still.

It wasn’t easy to hear what they were saying from that distance, but Jeanette focused her senses to catch most of it.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting in this place for _days_.” Iris said. And aw, the kitten didn’t like her kingdom. The Malkavian couldn’t exactly blame her; she didn’t have the best of experiences in it, which may or may not have been partially her fault.

But, mostly, Therese’s.

Mercurio gave her an uncomfortable look. “Hey, uh… the Prince was pleasantly surprised you managed to complete your mission. He said to give you his congratulations on proving you were the right woman for the job.”

The Ventrue didn’t sound moved. “Yes, well, he’s very welcome.” she waved the half-assed praise off. “Now _when_ can I speak to my _clan_?”

“Um. About that.” Mercurio hesitated. Jeanette leaned forward, terribly curious to hear what would follow. “The Boss said you are to remain in Santa Monica until further notice.” the ghoul said it quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

Iris stood there, frozen.

Were it anyone else, Jeanette would have laughed at their expense. But for the poor fledgling, she merely bit her bottom lip.

It was unfair. Beyond unfair. She'd earned the audience with her clan. There wasn’t anyone who could have achieved what she did, without help, in the first months of their Embrace. And instead of letting her feat be known to the vampire world, instead of calling it a trial worthy of a Ventrue, the Prince was keeping it on the down low. He was confining her to a Barony ruled by a Malkavian, letting her success fade into the night, until it was forgotten.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll try again to tell him of everything you did here—” 

Iris didn’t wait to hear his full sentence. She turned around, walked to the nearest trash can… and _kicked_ it into the wall. The sound of metal screeching as it bent made Mercurio jump.

Her chest heaved. Jeanette would never have pictured her so distraught.

It was… sad.

“Is there anything you want me to tell the Prince to help your case?” the ghoul asked.

“My case _can’t_ be helped.” the Ventrue replied darkly.

“He’s been known to react favorably to those providing useful information, in the past. Is there anything you can tell him about the elusive Nosferatu, Bertram Tung? Anything about Therese Voerman?” Another prod.

Jeanette’s gaze narrowed.

 _All or nothing, sweetheart._ She thought. She wouldn’t hold it against the new birdie if, in her desperation, she sang… but Therese would surely have her killed. And Jeanette wouldn’t stop her.

Iris turned back to him. The Malkavian awaited her reply... “No. I don’t know anything ‘useful’ about Tung. I don’t know _anything_ about the Baron.”

Mercurio gave a reserved nod. “I really wish there was more I could do, Iris. You’re not like the rest of them –and I won’t forget how you cared for me when I was bleeding out on my own damn stairs.” he said. “But for now, you gotta do as he says.”

Iris shook her head as she brushed past him.

“All of you, just… leave me _alone_.”

…

She wasn’t taking it very well.

Jeanette could see Iris sitting crestfallen at the neon-lit counter of her club, while Cal was eyeing her out of the corner of his vision, torn between keeping up his ‘tough guy’ act and asking what was wrong.

The Malkavian announced her entrance with a playfully flirty: “Hello, duckling~”

The bulky bartender visibly relaxed at the sight of her, focusing his attention on the other customers. Iris, however, barely turned towards her direction. There was an augur of gloom surrounding her, like a raincloud settled right above her pretty head. _Oh, no, no. That won’t do at all._

Determined to make it go away, Jeanette slipped closer, hip to hip and carefully slung an arm around her –admittedly very solid— shoulders. The fledgling’s emerald eyes went a tad wider at the contact. “Don’t you know there’s a strict ‘no pouting allowed’ rule in my club, kitten?”

Iris raised a questioning eyebrow. Her eyes searched for something over Jeanette’s shoulder and when they seemed to find it, she cocked her chin in that direction. “What about that guy, over there?”

Heterochrome eyes followed the shown path towards a guy crying at a darkened corner. Recent breakup with his two-year relationship, who dumped him for a rich businessman. If only her insight worked like that on people she actually _cared_ to know more about –cough, Iris, cough— instead of random Kine. 

“It only applies to hotties in my immediate vicinity.” Jeanette added. The fledgling shook her head, but she gave a tired, slow smile. It was progress. Better than nothing. “Same as my offer to make whatever’s troubling you go away…” she winked.

“I don’t think it’s something that goes away that easily.” the Ventrue gave a cute inclination of her head. “But that’s sweet of you, Jeanette.” At that point, the Malkavian was convinced she’d have to outright say ‘hey, have sex with me’ for Iris to actually _get_ it. “Look, I’m sure you can find better company for the night. I’m really not feeling it.”

Their eyes locked.

For a second, Jeanette could see past the green, at the sheer anger and regret swelling like the tide. Iris had always had to prove herself to someone –and it was never enough. The phrase was so deeply engraved underneath her skin. _‘It’s never enough’_.

“Why do you hold everything in? It’s drowning you.” Jeanette spoke without thinking, her fingers sliding to cup Iris’ nape. The filter was never there, but that was a particularly bad case of Malkavian-ism taking over.

The fledgling was the first to look down, at a random spot on the counter. She really did look like a newborn bird then, abandoned in a foreign place with wings it didn’t yet know how to use. Scared of the heights. Scared of the ground. Lonely.

Isolated. 

Jeanette let her crimson-manicured nails graze the other woman's nape. That drew her attention. “Hey. I know it seems terrible right now, but give Santa Monica a chance. It’s a lil’ messed up, but not _always_ in a bad way, not all feuds and near-death experiences. It can be pretty, at times. Filled with individuals as excitingly tickling as a bomb about to go off.” she said. “It’s a bit better than nothing, kitten. You have a place here.”

Iris looked up at her. There was something warm and unguarded in her eyes as the veil of darkness finally withdrew.

The Malkavian wasn’t sure what she said to help her through it –she wasn’t sure what she said _period_. But what she _did_ know for certain was that Iris’ smile then was like the sunrise she didn’t want to admit she’d missed, slow-rising, pure, too beautiful for words.

Jeanette leaned in, drawn by it, curious to taste it.

Her lips pressed to the very corner of the Ventrue’s mouth, lingering on the softness there for only a brief moment. She flashed a wicked smile upon drawing back. Iris coyly licked her lower lip, in a very darling ‘I liked that, but what was it for?’ way. 

“If you need further incentive to stay, all you have to do is ask.” Jeanette gave her a sexy wink and a parting caress underneath her chin.

The tempted look Iris gave her was enough, for the time being. Finally, the seed of what she was suggesting had been planted. All Jeanette had to do was water it meticulously and wait for it to bloom.

They had time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but writing Iris' dynamic with Jeanette is just so much fun. At first glance, the Ventrue is too proper and responsible for our dear Malkavian, but they have something that makes them click. I feel like they both know, on an instinctual level, they can be total idiots with each other if they let themselves (well, if Iris lets herself). And let's be honest, they both think the other is interesting/hot. We'll see how that plays out for them. 
> 
> Tell me what you think.


	7. Of Kindred and Kine

**[Therese]**

She had been informed, of course, in a letter from the Prince too formal to ignore, that Iris was to remain in her Barony until further instructions were given. 

A fact Therese imagined neither she nor the fledgling were too fond of.

They had been off to a promising start, but Jeanette had to go and mess it all up, like she always did. From a potentially useful underling, the Baron’s view changed until all that reflected in her eyes as they fell upon Iris was a crystal-clear threat. A thorn at a corner of her throne just waiting for her to shift the wrong way so it could prickle her.

It was an image hard to _un_ see. 

Even as recent developments proved it a false one.

Upon her other half’s request –‘ _Please leave her be, she has enough on her plate already_ ’— Therese decided not to pursue Iris’ end, although she got the feeling it was what LaCroix wanted, from the subtle hints left in his letter. She could agree with her sister that the young Kindred earned, at least, some time to breathe. To try and whether the storm. The Malkavian would be keeping tabs on her from afar, cautious – _always_ cautious— but not hostile.

Not yet, anyway.

A month flew by, uneventful.

Therese barely noticed the passage of time, most of hers spent waist-deep in Kindred politics and managing her investments. She was distantly aware, in the back of her busy mind, of the fact Jeanette had developed a peculiar fascination with the rogue fledgling laying low in their territory. They talked, on some nights. Jeanette sent the other woman texts with far too many winky faces when she was bored –which was _often_. Other than that, though, their relationship, strangely enough, did not seem to be physical. A fact which relieved Therese more than she was willing to admit.

Then again, considering the individuals Jeanette chose to… fornicate with, the elder sister should think of Iris as a step _up_.

Her facial features were in the right places, symmetrical, objectively good-looking. She had a sense of style and good manners. All traits Jeanette’s playthings utterly _lacked_. 

The ringing of her phone diverted Therese from her musings. Ice-blue eyes looked down from her computer screen, to the name of the Kindred standing guard at her elevator. It was an addition to the club she implemented more as a sign of power than out of actual need.

“Miss Voerman.” he said in his gruff voice. “The fledgling’s here to see you. Should I let her up?”

Therese could admit to being surprised. A tad curious. She never would have thought Iris would seek an audience without orders from the Prince –and the elder knew she had been given no such thing.

“Yes. Let her through.” she replied. Seconds later, a knock came on the Baron’s door. “Come in.”

Iris’ dark head came into view. Her striking green eyes checked the room, as subtly as possible, for any unpleasant surprises. It was clear she did not trust her, though Therese drew less offense from the caution than she did respect. It was good for both of them if the newbie was on her toes.

“Welcome, Iris. Take a seat.” she gestured, regal as a queen. “What can I help you with?”

Iris seemed uncharacteristically hesitant to voice her request. She took an unnecessary breath. “It took me a quite a few nights to come to terms with the fact I’m not leaving Santa Monica anytime soon.” she began. “But I’m not one to idly sit around and wait for orders. So, I was wondering… do you have work for me?”

Therese’s face did not betray any emotion, but she could not say she wasn’t pleased with the circumstances. Iris had proven herself capable – _too_ capable, even. Her Barony was short on individuals she could describe as such. If the fledgling could look past their …less fortunate moments and wish to offer her services once more, who was she to deny her?

Then again, word would probably reach the Prince from the moles scattered in her territory that she was employing the person she was supposed to either directly or directly push to ruin. It wouldn’t be great for her standing with him, but it would benefit her kingdom.

 _Decisions, decisions._ She mused, twirling her pen around her fingers in silence.

 _“Come now, what has the Prince ever done for us? Screw the bastard.”_ Jeanette’s voice came in the back of her head. Easy for her to say, when the rascal both literally and figuratively screwed everyone –Therese’s image included. _“Remember –she protected our identity. Now it’s_ your _job to protect her.”_

It was ironic that _Jeanette_ of all people would talk to her about her duty. Therese would have let out a frustrated, scornful laugh… if she did not partially agree with her sister. It was a first and it would probably be a last. Still, loyalty _was_ hard to find in the world and even rarer in that of darkness. 

“I can think of a few things requiring your particular skillset.” Therese finally replied.

The small smile that graced Iris’ lips was positively _luminous_. The Baron wasn’t one to linger on such things, but she noticed, like she noticed the sun and moon and the fireflies floating at the edges of the pond near her house.

“My skillset.” the fledgling replied, a hint of humor to her voice.

“Yes. The aggravating resilience, surprising determination and uncanny ability to succeed against all odds.” Therese replied, the corner of her lip quirking into the slightest of smirks, more a grimace than an intended one.

“Great, so I basically signed up for _another_ suicide mission.” Iris rolled her pretty eyes. “My nights have been so very dull without those.” she let out a breath that was more of a laugh that Therese absolutely did _not_ think was endearing.

Jeanette’s childish crush, at least until she got what she wanted from Iris, was getting to her.

“This task will only turn into one if you try _very_ hard to make it so, I promise you.” the Baron said. “All I want for you is to patrol the upper border of my territory and report anything unusual you happen upon. You will not be alone and you are not required to act on anything you see.”

“Hm. That… doesn’t sound so bad.” Iris nodded, appreciative.

Therese took a business card from a neat stack at a corner of her desk and slid it towards Iris. “For anything Kine-related, call the second number. The first is for emergencies. If you so much as smell a Sabbat, run to safety and notify my assistant _immediately_. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.” Iris pocketed the ivory card in one swift motion.

“Your partner will await for you at the pier tomorrow at twelve, sharp. You will work every second night and get paid by the end of every week. Any questions?” Therese asked.

Iris shook her head, then stood to go.

“None. See you around, Therese.”

The Baron was hoping their employer-employee experience would go smoother than the first time.

…

In hindsight, she should have known it wouldn’t.

Three weeks down the line, Therese received a call that she had a feeling wasn’t good. It was from the Nosferatu that was assigned as Iris’ patrol partner and from the way her voice was shaking, it was difficult to understand exactly what had transpired.

The Baron was out her office as soon as the words _Masquerade, violation, Sabbat_ and _Kine_ reached her ears. No matter how she mixed and matched them in her head, there was no sentence including all four that _didn’t_ ring alarm bells for her. 

The Brujah bouncer of her club, Ares, was ordered to join her for protection, while Betram Tung was sent ahead to access the situation. Therese still very much couldn’t stand the sight of the rascal, but his combat and tracking skills were unmatched in her Barony, rendering him a necessary evil.

Black high heels dug into the moist soil of the forest in rapid steps. The sensation was beyond uncomfortable, but Therese had bigger things to worry about. She pushed through the mud and humidity with only a few inward curses, equal parts anxious and relieved to hear familiar voices in the distance.

“You need to calm down!” The Baron had never heard Tung yell, before.

“No, we need to get him to a hospital _now_!” Iris’ roar came, cold and cutting, in a way that made her sound like someone else.

The two Kindred were all but hissing at each other, until Therese stepped out of the darkness, her gaze casting everything in pure ice. She did not have to speak to command silence. Steel-blue orbs examined their surroundings, from the twin piles of ashes she could guess were formerly Sabbat, to the torn campsite and bodies of four Kine. To the female Nosferatu quivering in one corner of the tiny clearing… then to Iris, positively bathed in blood.

Her chest was heaving, more habit and stress control than actual exertion. She was a canvas of cuts and claw marks, though Therese could tell most of the vitae on her person wasn’t her own.

“What happened here?” she asked.

“There’s no _time_ —” Iris moved forward to say, but Bertram Tung grasped the front of her shirt and pushed her back to silence her. It was for her own good. Therese wasn’t in a tolerant mood, to excuse any potential disrespect from fledgling to elder.

“I won’t ask again.” she warned.

“Ma’am…” the terrified Nosferatu spoke up. “We were in the middle of our patrol when we heard screams. As soon as I realized two Sabbat were feasting on the campers here… I-I hang back t-to inform you, as you said. But Iris rushed forward.” Therese’s eyes flew to the ash piles, then back to the Nosferatu. “I-I thought we were going to die! She killed them, somehow, but—”

“Yes, and now there’s one person left who’s still breathing. Only _one_.” Iris interjected, enraged. A double-edged, bloodstained sword. Cutting herself with the blame as much as her partner and the Sabbat.

“Who also saw everything.” Tung added.

“Are you serious?! I’m not just going to leave him to die!” Iris’ stance turned offensive.

“You’d rather break the Masquerade, instead?” Therese fixed her with a glacial look. That seemed to get her down a notch. A multitude of emotions flashed through her emerald eyes. Anger. Hurt. Powerlessness. Anguish.

The Baron couldn’t understand.

_Why do you care so much…?_

“I’m not letting him die.” She stared Therese right in the eye. The elder could admit, that took guts. Her conviction was admirable… but misplaced.

“It’s _not_ your decision.” she retorted. The sound of the human’s heartbeat was getting weaker and weaker. The Malkavian focused on it, listening in for a moment… “He won’t make it, anyway.” she finally said.

“How do you—”

“Just listen.” her voice cut the fledgling off.

Indeed, half a minute later… there were only the faint sounds of nature echoing in their supernatural senses.

Iris lowered her head. Something about her appeared _crushed_.

Tung relaxed and slowly left her side. She had no further reason to create trouble or put up any sort of fight. Therese caught the relief in his eyes and it was curious indeed;

He had been worried about her.

The Baron filed it away as potentially useful information for a later date. Ares moved to escort the young Nosferatu back to town, yet Therese did not let the same be done for Iris.

“Leave us.” she told the rest. There was no room for protest.

With one last look cast at the fledgling, Tung ran away, accompanying the other two. When Therese was certain they were out of earshot, she turned to Iris. For the first time, the dark-haired beauty wasn’t meeting her eye. The Malkavian couldn’t tell if she preferred it that way or not.

“I thought my orders were clear, that you were only to _report_ what you see.” she began.

“Well, if you think I can sit by and call you while people are screaming for their lives, you have the wrong person for the job.” Emeralds blazed.

Therese had seen Kindred without Humanity and few with lots of it.

She’d never come across any with too _much_.

Until she came across Iris.

“If you’re willing to endanger my image, my Barony and yourself for a few Kine, then, yes, it seems I do.” Therese said, coldly and surely. It was such a _shame_ that someone with so much potential would waste it all trying to save a lesser being. Iris’ mentality was keeping her back.

The fledgling took a few steps forward, shaking her head. “…maybe I was wrong about you.” she stated, more to herself than the elder.

“What was that?” Therese asked, glacial enough to _burn_.

Iris met her gaze head-on, that time. “I was wrong about you being different from the Prince.”

One second, the Baron was rooted on the spot. The next, she had Iris pressed against the nearest tree with a hand to her neck. The bark cracked from the force, but the fledgling’s expression did not break into one of fear, nor regret for her words. Therese did not see what she wanted to see.

And that _angered_ her.

“ _Watch_ yourself.” She pressed a tad harder. “If that were the case, your head would no longer be attached to your body. But you’re stressing my patience too _thin_.”

 _“No! Stop! What are you doing?? Can’t you see she’s too cute to be treated like this in any space other than the bedroom?!”_ Jeanette’s voice rang in her head. _“Let her go! I said, let her go!”_

Therese ignored her to the best of her ability.

“You’re all acting like you’re something else. So superior, just because you rule the night and they fear it. Just because you’re faster and stronger and more beautiful.” Iris didn’t push back against her. Merely… talked. “Have you forgotten what it’s like to be one of them?”

Therese felt stabbed and she didn’t know why.

Perhaps because she remembered. All too well. And she’d tried so very hard to _erase_ that life.

To outgrow it.

But she remembered. What it was like to be terrified and helpless. What it was like to pray for something, anything, to _save_ her.

The Baron stepped away from Iris like she’d been burned. She hadn’t reached out to touch anybody in a very long time –decades?— and the physical contact left her stomach twisted into knots. Either that, or the memories of a bitter, void existence she’d only wished would _end_.

“I’m sorry to cause you trouble. I really am.” Iris spoke, genuine, even and calm like she wasn’t just slammed into a tree, rubbing around her sore throat. “But I don’t want to be like the rest of you.”

Upon the elder’s silence, Iris turned to leave. Therese’s voice stopped her a few steps down the forest.

“…How did you kill two Sabbat by yourself?”

Emeralds met crystals. “Like you said; I’m aggravatingly resilient when motivated.”

“Add being a magnet for trouble to your list of qualifications.” Therese spat, though it came out considerably less venomous than she would have liked.

A soft, tired chuckle escaped Iris. “Too true. And don’t worry; I consider myself fired.” she waved over her shoulder, soon lost in the darkness.

Therese remained in place for another minute. If she could turn back time, there were a lot of things she would have done differently. Iris got under her skin, for reasons she could not begin to comprehend. She should have never let that happen.

_“…but, seriously. How hot is she when she’s all riled up.”_

Therese let out a frustrated huff.

_“I know you’re a tasteless block of ice, but don’t tell me you don’t see it.”_

“Shut up, Jeanette..” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey... at least they touched, right? Baby steps. With Therese, it's all about taking it one step at a time. Maybe even half. That being said, I loved writing this chapter. I want them to have this strong respect for each other while having completely different and often clashing views. So, right now we're establishing that. 
> 
> Sorry it took so long to update, but I'm not abandoning this story. Work is just hell atm. Still, thank you all for your support. Keep me motivated, send me your thoughts and comment! :)


	8. The Blush Of Life

**[Jeanette]**

Two buttons came undone on her crisp-white shirt –she was tempted for a third— as Jeanette came out of the elevator, greeted by the bows of the stationed guards and the chaotic jumble of scents in her club.

Yes, _her_ club.

Therese was just a business front. She was the very embodiment of Asylum.

Heterochrome eyes caught an abundance of promising individuals to spend some ‘quality’ time with, but all competition was effectively wiped from existence at the sight of a certain raven-haired beauty, seated at a corner of the long counter. Iris was toying with the olive pick of her martini –and why she always bothered to order one was something Jeanette really wanted to know— looking effortlessly cool in her black leather jacket. A sharp contrast to her calm aura was that of her company, the overeager, over-buzzing-with-energy, over-into-her ghoul.

 _Knax or something_. Jeanette _tsk_ ed to herself. Whatever Bertram found in him, she failed to see. The guy was exceptional only in his mediocrity, though perhaps that was the point. That and his ability to talk for hours on end, without any breaths in-between. Either way, Jeanette swiftly swooped in to press the emergency _stop_ button, in the form of pulling Iris into her side, while giving him the sweetest ‘see you never’ look she could manage.

“Hi and bye, little bat~” she waved. “Kitten and I have important things to discuss.”

“Oh. Yes. I get it.” Knax – _Knox_? what sort of name was _that_ — nodded twice. “ _Vampire business_.” he whispered, mercifully low. “Leaving you ladies to it.” he said. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

 _We won’t_ , Jeanette wanted to say but opted for a grimace-y nod. Once the ghoul was out of earshot, she turned to the emeralds regarding her with an amused twinkle. It was hard to look at them and not be reminded of stars. Sparkling pure in a sky filled with darkness… yet equally unreachable. “You’re welcome, duckling.”

“He’s a good guy, just…” Iris waved her cocktail pick in the air.

“Permanently stuck on fast-forward?” Jeanette offered.

A throaty little chuckle bubbled out of the Ventrue. “Yeah.” A small pause. “So, the ‘important business’ we have to discuss is…?” An eyebrow was raised, accompanied by a smirk. 

“Why you insist on ordering martinis you can’t drink, for one.” Jeanette pointed to the glass.

“I have to blend in.” Iris replied with possibly the most ‘duh’ look in existence.

 _First of all, honey, I can’t imagine you blending into anything. Secondly,_ “Says the woman who almost broke the Masquerade.” Jeanette snorted.

Iris’ expression turned near offended. “Who snitched?”

“ _Everyone_ knows!” the elder replied, chuckling. It was cute how new to the night Iris was, thinking word of an event of that scale wouldn’t spread across _all_ of the Santa Monica kindred. Gossip traveled like lightning between beings who had nothing better to do –and she was damn lucky Therese made sure it stayed within the Barony.

“Shit…” she whispered under her breath. “Is that why the Kindred over there are looking at me weird?”

Jeanette subtly followed the path of her green gaze. “No, that’s because you took down two Sabbat by yourself and they’re starting to _seriously_ reconsider their views on fledglings’ power levels.”

The Malkavian elder was wondering how she managed it herself, though she had become aware, by that point, Iris was no common newborn. She wouldn’t have survived so far if she was. A fact that had began to bother Therese, but only served to make her that much more interesting in Jeanette’s eyes.

“Speaking of that…” Iris looked away for a moment. “It was far closer than I would have liked.”

In her mind, Jeanette saw flashes of blows breaking through the Ventrue’s Fortitude to ram straight against her bones. Cracks and tears that she refused to show even as Therese knocked her against a tree. Then, images of a bloody hand imprint on the inside of a foggy shower stall, a cracked cross pendant left by the sink, sunflowers withering…

A blink; and it was all gone, replaced by the faint background noise of air-carried whispers that never truly left. “What did you expect? They wouldn’t be on the Camarilla blacklist if they were pushovers.”

“No, I just _know_ that it could be easier to take them down.” Iris struggled to explain. “It’s like… I felt I had the strength to do it and just _couldn’t_ summon it where it really mattered.”

Jeanette stared at her. “Nobody’s actually taught you how to use your Disciplines, huh…” It was hard to grasp that she figured it all out on her own and so quickly. It was also a little sad. Pale fingers reached for Iris’ cheek, giving it a slight pinch. “Poor baby.” 

“Hey!” Iris let out a soft growl. The nickname kitten was getting more and more fitting.

Jeanette giggled. “I can show you, if you’d like.” The offer came out absent thought, though there were a hundred better ways she could think of to spend her night.

The Ventrue considered it. “I would…” A skeptical pause. “But I’m not slashing any paintings in return!” was blurted out.

Jeanette huffed dramatically. _Never going to live that one down, am I?_ “You’ll just owe me a teensy favor~”

“Not doing anything illegal, or _any_ sort of action that can make Therese want to kill me again.”

“Aw, darling, don’t you trust me?” Jeanette placed a hand over her non-beating heart, already walking towards the exit, the pretty fledgling in tow.

“ _Absolutely_ not.”

…

Once they were out of town, the two kindred stopped pretending to be something they weren’t. Rather than walking, slow and boring, they ran at speeds available only to their kind. With the night air cool against their cheeks and the empty road a blur behind them, the sensation was nothing short of liberating.

Jeanette felt sorry for Therese, who never quite allowed herself the freedom to enjoy all the wonders that their shared, immortal body was capable of. Always so wound up. Always confining herself to that glacial image of perfection. Sadder still to think they had sacrificed so _much_ to be free…

But that night, she had to remind herself she wasn’t alone. Jeanette made sure not to go as fast as she could. She wanted Iris to keep up, to be comfortable. Perhaps a tad challenged, but not too much.

They came to a stop at Jeanette’s favorite spot, the old amusement park. She had enjoyed watching the giant Ferris wheel and mingling with the humans several decades ago, when it was built. She liked it just as much after it was closed to move to a more popular, more tourist-friendly location. The equipment had been abandoned to the whims of the weather and the earth, no longer vivid or shiny or polished, but there was an odd beauty to the way nature tried to assimilate it, with vines and moss clinging so intimately to metal. Almost like an embrace.

“Well? What do you think?” Jeanette asked, opening her arms wide, as though the playground belonged to her. As though the whole world did.

Iris’ emeralds checked around, always _so_ cautious. “It has a nice haunted park vibe.”

“Doesn’t it?” A mad grin spread across ruby-painted lips. “Oh, relax, duckling. Learn to take _pleasure_ in the dark. You’re part of it now.”

“You’re forgetting the part where it wasn’t my choice.” Iris muttered under her breath. “Anyway,” A shake of her head. “I’m ready for the lesson, ma’am.” the Ventrue raised her volume and put on her usual little smile.

Jeanette wondered why it had taken her this long to see it for what it was: a front. Just like her attitude and Therese’s obsession with her image. A pretty red curtain to hide the wrecked stage behind it to the eyes of the audience. 

The elder kindred wanted to replace it with something far more genuine in her presence. So, she used up a little blood –she could get her fill later, one of the advantages to owning a club— and buffed her speed to its maximum.

In the blink of an eye, she was right up to Iris’ face, slowing her attack _just_ enough to give her a fighting chance.

Iris’ cheek was grazed, but her body had shifted away in time to avoid the blunt of the hit. _Most fledglings would have just frozen up._ Jeanette observed. _Which means… Bertie was right._ Ruby lips curved in a devilish smile. Iris most definitely had combat experience as a human, ingrained so deeply in her muscle memory it followed her even in death. _Ex-military? Or something else entirely?_

“Lesson one.” Jeanette said in a honey-sweet tone. “Everybody older than you is likely both faster...” A quick shove to Iris’ middle sent her flying back. “And stronger.”

The Ventrue recovered with a practiced roll, staying crouched. With her eyes narrowed like that, she looked so _severe_. Jeanette could picture her shutting kindred up with a single glare, decades down the line. That was if she didn’t get herself killed first. Sadly, a far more likely scenario.

“Your best bet is to buff the opposite of what they’re using and go for what they’re not expecting. For example,” Jeanette rushed her and pretended to go for her neck. Mid-way to Iris raising her forearm to defend it, she kicked off her legs.

Another rapid movement and she had the Ventrue right where she wanted her; pinned underneath her like a cute little fish caught in a net. Iris tried to buck her off, yet Jeanette merely smirked and pressed her down harder. She was _quite_ enjoying the feel of her hips trapped between her thighs. They’d both be having a _lot_ more fun if Iris left combat aside and instead let Jeanette teach her about all the _truly_ fun usages of blood…

“What the hell.” Iris frowned.

“What.”

“I can’t get you off…” She struggled, to no avail.

“Ha, ha. You definitely can, kitten.” Jeanette winked.

“Very funny. I mean off of me.” A sour look came.

“So did I.” No, she didn’t. “But hey, lesson three. If you’re downed, you’re as good as _dead_ -dead.”

Iris let out a sigh and stopped thrashing. Her face was the very epitome of concentration for a moment, a moment during which the Malkavian lowered her guard in curiosity. And then. Iris snapped up with all the ferocity of a kitten from hell, forcing her up just enough to twist and kick her away.

“Ouch, duckling.” Jeanette blew a stray lock of hair out of her face.

“That didn’t really hurt you.” the Ventrue retorted.

“It hurt my feelings.” she huffed, pouted, then flashed in for another hit.

Iris immediately reached up to protect her nape. Her other hand wove underneath Jeanette’s, guiding it aside just enough to redirect her force. _Those moves…_ the Malkavian froze for a moment. _Where have I seen them before?_

The fledgling went for a direct strike through the opening, yet the elder was faster, twirling around her and dancing to safety. A wolf whistle escaped her lips. “Army?” she asked, perched on a nearby railing –or what was left of it— cross-legged.

“Yep.” Iris leapt at her.

Jeanette smirked and Obfuscated for style. She kicked some dirt in one direction to confuse the Ventrue, then grabbed her from behind. Iris had expected it, bringing a hand up to block her headlock, but it still wasn’t much of an obstacle for her strength.

“Don’t lie to me, kitten. The army doesn’t fight like that.” Crimson lips curved into a slow smirk, over the shell of Iris’ ear. _Got you._ “You instinctively protect your neck at all costs. You actively avoid your opponent’s eyes. Where did you learn those naughty tricks?”

“Call it… instinct.” In a sudden move, Iris grabbed her shirt and threw her off.

Jeanette, of course, landed on her feet, catlike. “Well, I think your instinct works against your new body. Your Beast tends to want to take over, but you’re afraid and you repress it. Don’t. Give your angry inner kitten a little space to do what it knows best, just not enough to lose yourself. Simple, yeah?”

Iris didn’t seem to like that notion. Jeanette had already figured she wouldn’t. Her pretty duckling was in a self-harming state of utter denial of her true nature. But she would have to accept it, sooner rather than later, if she was so determined to face the bigger fish lurking in their dark sea.

She would have to accept that the Beast was she and she was the Beast. That whatever she used to be…

She wasn’t, anymore.

…

One hour passed. Then two. The sky had filled with rainclouds.

Iris was getting the hang of how to use Fortitude on certain parts of her body, rather than hardening its entirety every time, to conserve precious points of blood. When Jeanette got tired of talking about boring ol’ combat, the conversation steered into a different subject.

“You know, the Anarchs are curious about you.” she commented casually.

“‘Curious’ in this world, I’ve learned, usually means they want to set you aflame on sight.” Iris stated.

“No, silly. Well. Mostly no. There is a large percentage that wants to meet you. Apparently, Jack told them you’re a weird kid.” she shrugged. It wasn’t false.

“Jack…? Oh, _that_ guy. He showed me how to feed. More like shoved me towards a woman’s neck and then slapped me out of the trance.” ‘ _Asshole’_ , Iris whispered under her breath, though without any real bite to it.

“Yes, but it was effective, right?” Jeanette asked. A grumble was her only reply. A silent beat passed between them. “…Do you still think Santa Monica sucks?”

“It has its charm, I suppose.” Iris huffed. “When I’m not looking.” was added, followed by a wry smirk. Somewhere in the far distance, thunder boomed.

Jeanette pushed off the ledge she was seated on and motioned for the fledgling to follow. “Maybe this will change your mind.” She practically skipped to the bottom of the Ferris wheel. Iris regarded her questioningly. “What? Come on up.” she said as she started climbing the steel skeleton with ease.

“I’m…not going up there.” Iris retreated a step. “Not too fond of heights.” 

Jeanette jumped down. She didn’t move, just stared at her company incredulously. “You can’t be serious.” The Ventrue’s face told her that she absolutely was. “You can’t even die if you fall.”

“Dying is not the issue. It never was.” Iris admitted quietly. “Plus, it looks like it’ll rain soon. Shouldn’t we head back?” As soon as she said it, another boom came, closer than the last.

“Don’t be a stick in the mud, kittennn…” Jeanette dragged the word out to oblivion. “Lesson number I-don’t-even-keep-track. Fighting mid-air is your friend and so are heights.”

Iris sized the Ferris wheel up like it was going to grow a mouth and eat her. The first scarce raindrops fell from the sky and crashed against the metal. Accepting there was no turning back and wanting to get it over with before everything got drenched and slippery, she grabbed the first bars and pulled herself up. Then the next ones.

“Just a little further up.” the elder smiled, passing her by on her climb.

Finally at the top bars, Iris was looking like she was fighting off a panic attack. Jeanette giggled and grabbed a hold of her, turning her towards the city, just as the rain picked up.

A thousand lights greeted them, sparkling like gems in a cave, stars in the sky. The roads looked so _small_ from their position, giving way to the giant buildings and brilliant neon signs and the vast blackness of the sea, separated from the coast with tiny, glowing orbs.

“Wow.” Iris breathed.

“You like?” Jeanette asked, resting her chin on the Ventrue’s wet shoulder.

“I like.” There was a smile in her voice.

“Say… do you trust me?” She couldn’t tell why she waited with bated breath for the answer. 

“I’m going to regret saying yes for the rest of my eternity, aren’t I?” Green eyes turned to meet her own.

Jeanette bit her lip. Smiled…

And pushed Iris off the edge.

A sharp gasp came, but she kept the Ventrue dangling in the air with an iron hold around her wrist.

“Are you for real?!” Iris accused.

“Calm down, duckling, I won’t let you fall. Just get used to the feeling.” Jeanette moved her from side to side a little bit. Iris was just about to curse at her, but she broke out into laughter the next moment. “See? Let yourself free.”

“This rush is so weird with my heart not beating.” Iris commented, a sad undertone to her smile.

Jeanette pulled her a tad closer. Iris firmly planted her feet on the metal bars half a level below. “Do you want it to?”

Green eyes went wide. “…what?”

“Do you want it to beat?”

The Ventrue leapt up using her own strength. Water-drops ran down the ends of her hair and chin. Jeanette’s goth mascara ran further, but she didn’t care. “That’s… not possible.” She shook her head.

“It isn’t?” The Malkavian’s lips curled into a knowing, promising smirk. She walked around Iris, almost not stepping onto the metal bars at all, almost like dancing on air.

The Ventrue studied her quietly, shifting her weight to a more comfortable position, so only her right hand and legs were occupied for balance. When Jeanette stepped closer once more, leaning into her face, she wordlessly took her left palm and pressed it to her breast, where the soaked white shirt was clinging to red lace.

Iris’ lips parted. Her pretty eyes turned shocked, then confused. Then...moved. Jeanette’s heart was beating, faint, but there. Her skin, she knew, was warmer to the touch.

“Final lesson of the night.” Jeanette whispered between them like a secret. “It’s called the Blush of Life. Focus on slowly sending your vitae to every nerve ending in your body…” she leaned in, practically against Iris’ frozen form. “…and feel it come alive.”

Iris was almost numb as she tried it, but Jeanette had no doubt it would come as easy to her as walking. The higher one’s Humanity, after all, the simpler it was.

Seconds later, the body touching hers grew warm. The vein at Iris’ pale neck pulsed.

“Now, a lot of things just… feel… better.” Jeanette leaned the last few inches in, sliding her lips over Iris’.

A touch that normally would only bring the comfort of closeness. Perhaps a distant memory of something good. Yet that same touch, in slightly altered circumstances, _burned_. In a pleasurable way. In a human way. In a way that incited a different kind of hunger.

Iris was a stranger to it. Jeanette was not. And yet, the zap of electricity that traveled down her gut was intense in a manner it usually wasn’t. Exciting. Every brush of lips stoked something in her, deep. She could feel Iris’ hand on her chest like a brand that she wanted _everywhere_. 

She moaned when Iris opened her mouth for her. The Ventrue shivered when her tongue grazed underneath a sensitive fang. Jeanette’s nails dug into her shoulder, pushing herself harder down on Iris’ solid thigh…

The fledgling stopped her with a hand firmly on her hips, breaking the liplock for an unnecessary breath. Jeanette felt too good to even be disappointed. There was something very endearing about having such a close view of Iris’ struggle to reign herself in.

“…so, duckling?” Jeanette raised an eyebrow cheekily.

Iris’ lidded eyes were so hot with the darkness in them expanded, the green a faint ring around it. She gave a slow smile that could put all the lights in the city to shame.

“Jeanette.”

Her name was uttered like a holy thing, a prayer. She was drawn into a loose, one-armed hug.

“Thank you for everything.”

A tiny kiss was pressed to her rain-graced pulse, soft, almost reverent. It ached sweet. 

Iris gracefully disentangled them and began her descent afterwards.

But what she didn’t know was…

That final gesture _broke_ Jeanette. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeanette goes to steal a steamy little kiss and ends up a column of salt from one sweet gesture. She'd be all for sex with Iris, but the second the situation gets out of her control and crosses into the line of intimacy and feelings, which at that last bit it did, it's more than she can handle. The fact Jeanette does not shy away from pleasure doesn't mean she's not as fucked up by her past as Therese is... and I want to explore that in this fic. 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully it won't be as long for the next updates, but that all depends on work and how exhausting it gets. Still, even if I go at a turtle's pace, I'm not abandoning my fics. So for all of you still here, thank you and stay awesome.
> 
> Thoughts? :)


	9. The Importance of Rules

**[Iris]**

She didn’t want to admit it. But.

Santa Monica was growing on her.

The pier was beautiful at night, lit in soft globe lights, filled with people until late and even then, never quite lifeless. The city wasn’t too big, a faceless giant to get lost in, nor too small, to be suffocating. Iris had sure taken her sweet time to start appreciating it. She’d initially viewed it as a cage she was thrown into, a trap she was never supposed to escape unscathed from. Perhaps it still was one, yet it no longer felt that way. A glass she had began to see as half full, rather than half empty.

 _“You have a place here.”_ Jeanette’s words rang in the back of her mind still.

Iris never quite felt she had a _place_ anywhere. 

_Perhaps it’s not so much about a specific location and more about the people in it._ Iris mused as she cast a fond look at the Surfside Diner and the kind woman behind the counter. Then at Asylum, then, ways off, at the abandoned oil tank Betram Tung resided in.

And just as she was starting to accept remaining there for a few more months –years?— wouldn’t be as awful as she’d first imagined...

Hurried footsteps approached from behind. Not light and graceful enough to belong to a vampire. Not clumsy and uneven enough to be a human’s. Iris turned around, seeing none other than the Prince’s ghoul himself dash towards her. She wished it was for good news but knew better than to expect it.

“What’s wrong, Mercurio?” she asked, calmly cautious.

“Iris!” he huffed, slowing down, re-adjusting his expensive shirt. “You should ask what’s right! I just got word from the Prince that he wants to speak with you. You’re summoned to Venture Tower, asap.” He was smiling for her sake. Iris appreciated his effort… however. “I… thought you’d be happier to hear that?”

 _Yes, except at this point I’ve lost faith the asshole will let me actually speak with my clan._ “I’m holding my horses.” she replied.

“Nah, come on. You’ll meet the rest of the vamp suits up there, I’m sure of it. You deserve it.” he said with a wave of his hand. “Just don’t forget all about us at the bottom once you’re at the top with them.”

The corner of Iris’ lips drew upwards. She took two steps closer to Mercurio, who straightened up. It was clear he wasn’t used to Kindred approaching a ghoul for any good reason. Which must have made the fledgling’s following gesture even more startling for him, when she raised her hand… and lightly brought it on his shoulder. “Thanks, Mercurio. And I’m sorry about last time. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You got nothin’ to apologize for, Iris.” He shook his head, probably to hide the blood creeping up his neck, all the way to his cheeks.

“Drinks are on me next time I’m around.” _Positive thoughts_.

Next time she was around.

Iris kept the ‘if’ to herself.

…

She couldn’t explain why Therese’s two bodyguards insisted on being such hardasses every time she asked to speak with the Baron. Even when the woman gave the word to let her up, they looked at her like a cop would a criminal recently released from jail. Then again, recent events must not have lit her image in the most positive of lights.

“Hello, Iris.” Therese spoke up before the Ventrue even knocked the door to her office.

With an eye-roll concealed behind the heavy mahogany, Iris walked into the neat space. The Baron sat back in her chair as she motioned for her to sit, clinically cool, like a doctor addressing a patient. Her wavy blonde hair was pulled back into its usual tight bun, dark lipstick and matching outfit both sharp enough to cut from a distance. Even for Iris, who knew of the woman’s dual personalities, it was near impossible to accept that same body belonged to Jeanette, as well. Like night and day. Or, more accurately, like the light and dark side of the moon.

“What is it this time? Explosions, more Nosferatu you’d like to bring to the surface, or a Masquerade violation?” Great. Therese was evidently in one of her bitchier moods.

“Such faith in me.” Iris grimaced.

“You inspire it.” the woman replied, warm as the block of ice Jeanette frequently referred to her as. 

“Sadly, nothing so exciting. I’m just requesting permission to leave for Downtown, Venture Tower. Prince’s orders –I don’t know what he wants.” she explained.

Therese’s gaze hardened behind her glasses. “Now? Out of the blue?”

Iris nodded, equally suspicious. “Yeah.”

A short pause came between them. “I see you can hardly contain your excitement.” the stoic woman commented sarcastically, her expression unchanged, save for a barely-there curl of her lip. So tiny, in fact, even to a vampire’s eye it could pass as a hallucination or a trick of the light. And yet, Iris’ gaze lingered on it.

“Is it that obvious?” she chuckled.

“Impossible to hide.” The Malkavian waved her pen in a vague motion. “Well, then. Don’t let me keep you. Permission granted.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d deny it.” Iris huffed, bringing her fingers over her face. “You can say, for example, I’m absolutely necessary for the Barony right now?” was the hopeful offer.

“For all the trouble you caused me? No way. Plus, I’m _positive_ Santa Monica can endure without you for a few days.” Therese’s words held no real bite to them. Iris could dare say she even looked lighter. And _far_ more attractive when she wasn’t glaring daggers through her skull.

_…whoa, where did that come from?_

“Alright, guess I should just get it over with.” Iris stood, another sigh leaving her lips. She was _not_ eager to sully her night by seeing LaCroix. “In the very likely case that I don’t return, please tell Jeanette a wholesome bye from me.”

Therese gave her… a look. An odd look, which softened when her lips parted. “Iris.” she said, shoulders square, posture regal as always, a fact that only made the new aura about her that much more unfamiliar. “I appreciate your sticking to protocol. And –be careful.”

A little smile came from the Ventrue.

Then, she was out the door.

…

Of course, the Prince’s summon was nothing more than another errand run. A single command; ‘find the Ankaran Sacrophagus’, sweetened by a stack of cash carelessly thrown towards her in way of compensation.

When she’d asked about her requested audience with clan Ventrue, or even a representative of theirs, LaCroix had given the answer of a politician. A fabrication off the top of his head, decorated by nice words, woven into another sentence that steered the conversation to a different topic. One that suited his agenda better. And only at the very end of their meeting, did he throw her another bone:

 _“Keep excelling at the tasks I give you and I assure you; I will put in a favorable word for you. Even if you don’t believe me, I’m sure you are at least intelligent enough to realize the Ventrue oversee all. Good and bad, we are aware of_ everything _.”_

He was right; Iris did not believe him. The only reason she had to follow his orders was to add accomplishments to her resume, so many that one day her clan would not be able to overlook them any longer. Being welcomed into the Ventrue ranks was another step to achieving her goals, for she did not much care to be part of the Kindred elite for the sake of status and luxury.

Her singular purpose was to burn the Sabbat to the ground. To _erase_ them from reality.

And for that, she needed _power_.

Luckily for her, there was a reason Ventrue ruled the vampire world since ancient times. Their Disciplines were an almost perfect combination. If used correctly, to their maximum potency, they could be the catalyst she needed for her objective.

Lost in thought, Iris took her time walking through the Downtown.

It was a busy city –a rich city. People walked with a different air than the Santa Monicans, heads high, in Gucci heels and designer coats and expensive perfumes. Several men and women cast Iris appreciative glances as she passed them by, but her own eyes remained fixed straight ahead. The thirst was always there, the Beast in her tempting to get use out of the mortals’ attraction to quench it, yet iron willpower kept both in control.

As the Ventrue ventured into the poorer neighborhoods, she noticed something off about her surroundings. Shadows lingered at the corners of her senses. Iris quickly realized she was being watched. Whoever it was lacked the subtlety and skill of Betram Tung, to the point her royal vitae was offended _not_ to call them out on it.

“You call this tailing someone?” She stopped at an empty alley and pivoted around. “Might as well walk beside me.”

“Stealth is for pussies, after all.” A hulking man soon came to stand in front of her, cracking his knuckles to make a point that didn’t really impress Iris. “We do prefer the more direct approach.” He cocked his head towards his partner, another man, hooded, his build considerably smaller but shadowed face no less unpleasant.

“And by ‘we’ you mean? You and your friend or?” Iris raised an eyebrow.

“The Anarchs.”

“Ah.” Iris said. _“Bunch of malcontents. They get pumped by rousing the rubble, like that’s hard.”_ was Bertram’s opinion for the rebel group. Still, she was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. “Look, friend. I don’t really care. Dawn will rise soon and you’re blocking my way outta town.”

“Nines Rodriguez wants a word with you, fledgling.” The bulky one said.

“And if I don’t want a word with him?” Iris asked, perfectly calm, hands inside her jacket’s pockets.

“There’s the easy way and the hard way to do this.” he replied.

Iris smiled. “Because you guys are all about freedom of action and speech, huh?”

That seemed to make them straighten up for a moment… but not too long. Iris’ eye caught the smaller guy start to move and she didn’t wait to see if he’d go for a hug, a grab, or a rude gesture. Instead, she buffed her speed and struck straight at his throat, jumping into the wall and kicking herself up when the other Brujah reached for her with his huge hands.

In the air, Iris twirled with all the grace of a martial artist, stepped on her opponent’s shoulder and leapt towards the street. When the smaller man blocked her way out, however, something in her blood _kicked_. 

In her mind came the image of a foolish snake, hissing up at a giant eagle from its position on the ground, ignorant of its situation. Ignorant of its _place_ in the food chain.

Instinct took over. Iris’ hand grabbed at his face, shoving him against the nearest wall. Their eyes locked. “ _Crawl_ , Brujah.” her voice in that moment sounded alien to her own ears. Glacial. Absolute.

The vampire fell to his knees, trying to stand again… and failing.

Iris turned her gaze to his companion, who froze in place upon meeting it.

“You idiots, look at what you’ve done!” a familiar voice called from behind Iris –and the most startling fact about it was that she hadn’t heard anybody approach. Hadn’t _felt_ anybody approach. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”

Iris blinked. Her hold over the Brujah shattered like a dream in the wake of dawn.

 _That tone of an absolute asshole… that voice… There’s no mistaking it._ Iris turned around with the flattest, sourest look she had given anyone in her entire life.

“ _Jack_.”

…

It was a week later that Iris managed to return to Santa Monica.

A week during which she had been sent on a wild goose chase for the Ankaran sarcophagus, met with almost every Brujah in L.A. and helped the Anarchs take down a freakish cult wreaking havoc amongst their ranks. To say she was mentally exhausted would be an understatement.

The fledgling was certain the immense, stubborn pride of her Ventrue blood was the only thing keeping her from dragging her feet as she made her way back to Therese, to report her return. _Kindred freaking protocol._

“My, what a surprise.” The Baron commented, weaving her fingers together in a very business-like motion. “You’re still alive.”

“You don’t sound _pleasantly_ surprised.” Iris joked.

“Perish the thought.”

“Should I give the short version or the long one?” the Ventrue asked.

“I always do appreciate short and to the point.” Therese said.

“The Prince gets on my nerves, the Anarchs get on my nerves, the Sarcophagus is more trouble than it’s worth.” Iris retorted fast. “There was also a weird blood-cult somewhere along the way, but it’s taken care of.”

Therese stared at her. “I… am not even certain I _want_ more details.” Whatever documents the Baron had been half-paying attention to were gently pushed to the side. “Although I must admit I am curious about your interactions with the Anarchs. Did they approach you? Did they try to recruit you?”

“They weren’t very tactful about it.” Iris answered honestly. “And yes, they tried. But I’m not interested in complicating my position with the Camarilla further.” The rebels didn’t like the sound of that, of course. Some even turned hostile. Still, she’d respected what they fought for –she helped them when she didn’t have to— and in return asked them to respect her decision not to join their cause. 

Therese opened her mouth to say something yet was interrupted by the _gling_ of her phone. Whether a text message or a reminder, it was clear she had business to attend to. “There is an important event I cannot miss but I would like to hear more about your time with the rebels.”

Iris took that as the invitation it was and stood along with Therese, then waited at the hallway for the woman to gather her purse and lock her office. Inside the small elevator, she kept a respectable distance. When she breathed in, a leftover human habit, the air was dominated by the Baron’s expensive, dusky perfume, with undertones of subtle fabric softener. Iris thought perhaps she should breathe in more often.

Then the doors opened to the club’s floor and she changed her mind. Too loud, too many smells, too much alcohol and sweat. It was perhaps the only part of humanity she did not miss.

Therese visibly tensed as she stepped into the club. Where Jeanette glided and thrived among the mass of bodies, her counterpart did everything in her power to keep them at arm’s length. Even farther, if possible. Iris once again felt the Kindred bodyguards’ eyes pierce holes through her back as she walked beside the Baron. 

Therese’s phone beeped once again and just as the woman reached into her purse to check it… it happened.

The fledgling’s superhuman senses caught a verbal fight to their right intensify and come to threats and shoves. And then… an object sweeping through her peripheral, missing its intended target and heading straight for Therese. _Dead_ -straight.

Iris _reacted_.

Her hand reached out without warning, grabbed the Baron’s elbow and pulled her back, so she was shielded behind the shoulder and arm she raised. Therese’s eyes flashed like she was about to cut her head off for the criminal offense of touching her, until, a split second later, the sound of glass shattering registered in her brain. Grey-blue eyes looked down, at the shards decorating the floor, then the mess of bright green cocktail spilled all over Iris’ jacket.

“I’m –really sorry.” The Ventrue immediately released her hold and stepped away. The last thing she wanted was to invade the blonde’s personal space, when she knew just how important it was to her.

Green eyes turned towards the fighting humans with all the cutting force of flying daggers, but, thankfully for them, the bodyguards were already rushing to the scene, separating them with ease.

Therese’s jaw was clenched hard enough to sprout new lines on her beautiful face, but she turned away with an exhale. “Come.”

Iris was thankful to step outside, into the cool, fresh air.

She shrugged off her jacket in one swift motion, grimacing at the liquid seeped into it. “It just had to be absinthe…” A sad huff. _How do people even drink this stuff?_

Therese didn’t talk for a moment, during which Iris considered tactical retreat. But then, “That… was quick acting back there.” she stated. It wasn’t a ‘thank you’, though it was close.

Iris shrugged. “I don’t have any important meetings other than the one with my bed, so.”

“I’m still surprised you sacrificed your jacket for my suit and time. I wouldn’t have bet on it.” The Baron gave her a curious look.

“What, you think I’d leave you to the mercy of this green slime just because you tried to kill me a couple of times?” Iris teased good-naturedly.

“Trust me, I didn’t try very hard.”

“Okay, in that case I feel _so_ much better.” she replied sarcastically.

Shockingly enough… Therese smirked.

And it was—

The Ventrue should have described it as uncharacteristic, odd, strange and definitely _not_ —

 _Hot_.

She dismissed it as her intense kiss with Jeanette affecting her judgement and the way she viewed her other half. Because she absolutely did _not_ want to consider the alternative.

Thankfully, the Baron soon reverted to her chilly, professional norm. “Anyway, back to the matter at hand.” she spoke. “The Anarchs were interested in you. Jeanette had already told me as much. What do you think of them?”

“Well, they’re not bad…” Iris trailed off. “They’re right on some of the things they demand, even if they do so in a decidedly brute-force type of way. They gave a ton of clanless vampires a home, too.” she added. “I guess they’re just a tad… too trigger-happy for me.”

“I agree.” Therese said. “Rebellion sounds good on paper, but reality is different. There must always _be_ someone at the top. Someone who can make the tough decisions and take the blame and the hate for them after.” 

Iris nodded. It was a noble idea for all voices to be heard equally, but then chaos was sure to follow. Even animal packs had a leader. “Don’t worry about me joining the Anarchs. Helping them has nothing to do with it. They make a point of living free of regulations… but I learned the importance of rules a long time ago.” 

_It was a rainy mess of a night._

_Lightning was flashing across the open skies._

_Her team had trekked through the forest to the Sabbat cottage and set up all the explosives. Iris had been the youngest, less experienced member. She was left behind on lookout duty with the detonator at hand. The rest had gone inside, to rescue the kidnapped humans the monsters kept around as snacks._

_She heard something had gone wrong through the comms, but didn’t report it, as were the rules. She knew what her orders would be if she did. Instead, Iris had waited, her breaths shallower by the minute, as the sounds of battle intensified. And then—_

_Her step-father’s voice sounded in her earpiece, from Headquarters._

_“They’re not going to make it out alive.” The words held physical impact, like a blow to the chest. “Detonate the explosives, Iris.” The Inquisitor’s orders were absolute._

_Cold rain mercilessly beat down on her, but her hand froze on the remote for an entirely different reason. They were still alive in there. She couldn’t do it._

_“Listen to me, Iris, they’re already dead! Do it!”_

_But they weren’t. She could hear their grunts of pain and labored breaths._

_She couldn’t._

_“Press the damn button!”_

_She didn’t._

_The Sabbat got away. None of the other Hunters survived. That same night, Headquarters received word of a small village raided by the same group of vampires._ Everyone _was slaughtered._

_“It’s on your hands.” Her father –no, the Inquisitor, said, in a harsh whisper._

_Because she didn’t follow the rules. Because she didn’t have the stomach to do what she had to, even though the tough decision was already made for her. Because she_ failed _._

_“Their blood is on your hands.”_

She hadn’t realized it herself, what piece of her opposed the Anarchs so strongly, even though she appreciated them as individuals. It wasn’t her Ventrue blood. It wasn’t _just_ that.

It was the part of her subconsciously collimating the rebels and the Sabbat. No rules meant no control. And no control of vampires meant no real protection for the humans. She couldn’t rely on their goodwill and self-control. Not everyone had hers.

“Well.” Therese said, coming to a stop outside a fancy-looking hotel. “I’m glad you understand.”

The Ventrue took at a step back. “Looks like you won’t be needing my protection from any more flying absinthes, so I’ll head home.”

“No, just flying nonsense.” the Baron commented. She didn’t flatten the small curl of her lip in time for it to not be noticeable. “Oh, and Iris? Take the long way back to your apartment.”

Iris raised an eyebrow. Therese didn’t say anything else, though, as she turned and headed inside, every step an elegant click of black high heels.

As the Baron had commanded –suggested?— the fledgling took the scenic route back to her shitty motel. Once there, she noticed a black object hanging from her doorknob. Iris approached it as one would a ticking time bomb. And then she took a closer look…

It was a shiny garment bag. With a stylish, sleek black jacket inside that looked _designer_. 

“Alright, Baron.” Iris smiled to herself as she locked the door behind her. “Respect.”

She could almost forgive all the crap Therese put her through with that.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, just because I got some time to write now and who knows when I'm having this again. 
> 
> In this chapter, our pretty Kindred grows on Therese just a liiitle (lot) more. Because she appreciates her intellect, views and the way she handles herself in general. And though she won't ever admit it, she knows Iris is one of the most capable vampires of her Barony. I want their relationship to have its foundation on mutual respect. And there's like a tiny hint of flirting there -that neither of them will ever call as such- if you squint.
> 
> Your input means a lot to me. Stay awesome.


	10. Argent

**[Jeanette]**

Don’t get her wrong— she enjoyed the metric fuck-ton of insight her clan was gifted with. Usually.

But the major downside to it? It worked on herself as well as it did on others.

And that wasn’t fun. Because no matter what pretty, comfortable little lie Jeanette would weave and wrap into a nice package for selling, ninety nine point nine percent of her wasn’t buying it. Examples? Plenty. She wasn’t avoiding Iris–false. She wasn’t hooking up with random guys to forget the warm, jittery sensation of being held by her while simultaneously comparing the feel of their lips –false. A little crush maybe wasn’t so bad, she was just horny for the charismatic Ventrue –happens— she wasn’t afraid to want her more _after_ jumping her bones.

False, false, false.

It was no secret Jeanette enjoyed her frequent bump-and-grind time, the partner more or less irrelevant, but it was good precisely because of that fact. The contact was only skin-deep. It didn’t make her think of anything or want anything afterwards. Attraction was fine, some individuals just ticked more of her boxes than some others. Whatever Iris made her feel last time was _not_. 

The makeout was thrilling, the friction was exciting and it was all great and familiar. Until. Five seconds later, that little one-armed hug, that soft _smile_ and that _fucking_ kiss to her neck still haunting her skin changed _everything_.

Jeanette didn’t think about sex, then. She thought of walking her home and curling up with her on a couch… and that someone as fucked up as her shouldn’t be around a good girl like Iris. Tainting her.

 _“Okay. What the hell is wrong with you?”_ Therese’s voice came in the small, dark, shared space of their head. A faceless greyscale room that, if either dared look a little better at, was very reminiscent of their very first prison.

 _“With_ me _? Nothing.”_ Jeanette replied. _“What’s wrong with you?”_ she reversed the question just to fuck with her sister.

 _“_ I’m _not the one relinquishing control for the second time in a row. I thought we agreed on fifty-fifty, without interruptions.”_ How boring. Therese made even that sound like a business transaction.

 _“Agreed to disagree. Why are_ you _going all Sherlock on me now?”_ she asked. _“Shouldn’t you be happy to do whatever dull stuff you do every night?”_

 _“I am. Business is going great.”_ The Baron held no small amount of pride in her voice. _“But you are too quiet. It’s suspicious. You’re either plotting something… or you’re unwell.”_

Hells. _“Whateverrr, guess it’s my turn to shine.”_ Jeanette put on a big smile and waved at her sister.

_“Before I forget –Iris came by yesterday. She’ll be out of town for a few days. Said to give you a ‘wholesome’ bye from her in case she doesn’t return.”_

_“Uh-Huh.”_ She only nodded, uncertain of what to say. There was no way Iris wouldn’t return. Girl was tough as nails. _…right?_

 _“Just that? I was under the impression you liked her.”_ Therese was probably fishing for information. 

Alarm bells went off on Jeanette’s side of their mind. _“About as much as the next kitten. Well, now. Ciao.”_

Jeanette opened her eyes to Therese’s aggravatingly organized office. Perfect vision was blocked by utterly unnecessary glasses, which were immediately thrown onto a pile of papers. Her sister’s clothes were shrugged off like they’d personally offended her while wavy blonde hair was shaken out of the tight bun and pulled into her usual pigtails. _Much. Better._

The Malkavian skipped her way down to her club and threw herself into the beat of the music and the mass of bodies on the dance floor. Too many good-looking people were around that night, but she didn’t want any of that to risk being reminded of someone else. Luckily, there was a safe option.

_What is Bertie doing these days…?_

…

Although the Voerman sisters had grabbed a seat of power for themselves without the Ventrues’ direct approval, Therese had sucked up to the Camarilla since the beginning of their unlife. A fact which automatically made Jeanette align herself with the Anarchs. She wasn’t one for rules, anyway and it worked like a charm ever since the two sisters joined forces.

The Malkavian didn’t hang out with them often, but she spontaneously decided to check in, from time to time. That evening, Smiling Jack had pushed a glass of her favorite blood type towards her with a nod. “On the house, doll.” A bit of small talk was made as more rebels came and went. And at some point… “You know your girlfriend was here a few nights ago?” he asked.

Jeanette tried to focus on nothing other than the raw, orgasmic bliss of the blood on her tongue, instead letting out a simple, non-committal “Hm?”

“Never seen a Ventrue like that in my entire existence –and it’s been long enough.” he commented. Honestly, neither had she. “Despite her shitty clan, kid’s alright. In some pretty deep crap, though. Almost feel sorry for her.” Jack continued. “Which made me wonder… had you ever heard anything of her Sire?”

The Malkavian took a moment to consider that. The whispers in the back of her head intensified in those quiet seconds. “Hmm… A little birdie told me she was one of the lower-profile Ventrues. Never heard of her before, just some recent rumors that she had lost her right to a Childe. But shh –state secret.”

“This whole scenario doesn’t add up very well, although I guess I don’t care enough to look into it.” he shrugged. “Just don’t see this ending very well for the kiddo –and she refused our protection, too.”

Jeanette was almost certain she would.

Prompted by his words, a scene flashed before her mind, one seen by the eyes of another Malkavian rebel, almost like a vintage film distorted at the edges. Not every part made sense, but one in particular did:

_“I thought you were closer to Jeanette –and that you’d made the right choice on where you stand. Instead you’ll side with that Camarilla bitch, Therese?” Skelter asked, aggravated._

_“Don’t talk about her like that.” Iris warned._

_“Chummy with the Baron? I hear she’s too frigid for that sort of thing.” he pushed._

_The fledgling simply shook her head and made her way to the door._

_“Why would you rather be with_ them _, Iris? They never protected you. Never will. Without Nines at court you’d be ashes.” he said. “Is it because of that ‘royal’ blood in your veins?”_

_“You know nothing about the blood in my veins.” her tone was cutting as a silver blade. The kind known to be the bane of all undead._

_The door closed behind her with a final click._

Then the whispers got too many. Too loud. 

Some were broken, nonsensical musings. Others a tad more focused.

_“Argent Ventrue? HaHAha, oxymoron…”_

_“—Defended our Obsidian-and-Ivory Queen—”_

_“—Guardian or killer, GuArdIaN oR KiLLeR??”_

_…_

Shit hit the fan real quick.

The Malkavian Primogen was found dead.

The news spread across the network of voices like wildfire, but it wasn’t long before every single Kindred in the city started whispering about the very same thing. Therese had taken over for the coming night, calming the loonies of their clan down with assurances Jeanette was certain she didn’t entirely believe, herself.

Still, she was good at damage control.

Following the death of Grout, the Kindred political game took a sudden turn. A position of power was left wide open with too many aspiring vampires hungrily reaching for it. Therese, of course, had her own agenda and her own plans on how to gain from the situation. Jeanette didn’t much care either way, so she hang back and let her sister handle the heat.

Until word reached her ears that it was Iris who was sent to investigate Grout’s disappearance.

And she hadn’t returned to Santa Monica since.

_“Boom, boom, I hear his mansion went up like a firework—”_

_“—ARgEnT a KiLLer AFteR AlL?”_

_“No, no. Argent arrived after. After Ninety-Nines and the Huntquisitor!”_

_“She arrived but did she ever un-arrive? Hahah.”_

_“_ Silence _!”_ Therese’s voice cut across the rest, like a steel knife through butter. Jeanette was surprised they listened to her. The voices quieted down a notch, allowing for more room to think.

For once, the two sisters were of one mind. The Prince should have informed the Baron if a Kindred under her surveillance was found deceased. Then again… would he? Perhaps he didn’t care enough. Perhaps in all the chaos of a Primogen’s death, a fledgling’s life seemed insignificant.

Therese… wasn’t as neutral about the matter as Jeanette would have thought. She didn’t show it, nobody would even guess it by looking at her, but the younger sister could tell she was _stressed_.

What felt like ages when it was only hours later, her phone lit up with a certain Ventrue's name across the screen. Both sisters reached for it at the same time.

“Iris?” they asked in unison.

 _“Therese…”_ her voice came, hoarse, breathless. _“Sorry for the radio silence. I was recovering from some–”_ A cough. _“—pretty bad burns. I’m in my hotel room now but– can’t really move much.”_

Jeanette –or was it not just her?— let out a long sigh. “Stay there. I’ll have Vandal deliver you blood as fast as possible.” Therese spoke evenly. “We can talk when you’re better.”

_“Ugh... thank you.”_

The Baron immediately called her Ghoul with specific instructions about what to bring. Fresh, high quality blood, from a healthy blonde female, preferably in her mid-twenties. She’d added a warning at the end in her typical icy fashion, that his existence depended on the task she’d assigned him.

_“I’m going to check on her.”_

_“Jeanette, there’s still a ton of work to be done.”_ Therese countered, though it wasn’t a no.

_“It’ll wait one night.”_

The Baron protested… but, at the same time, she relinquished control too easily.

…

Jeanette did not bother with something as basic as knocking before she barged into Iris’ room. The only thing that slowed her pace was the observation the whole motel was _just_ about ready to come crashing down if she so much as pushed on a wall or pillar too hard.

“Hello, duckling~ urgent delivery!” she greeted enthusiastically, receiving a faint grunt from the bed in return.

Iris’ green eyes flew _wide_ as they zeroed in on the bloodbags in her hands, but she reigned her inner Beast enough to not pounce at her for them. The elder smirked and dropped the goodies on her bedside table. “Dig in.”

Iris looked tempted. Beyond tempted. Her fingers were gripping tightly at the sheets, body rigid as an iron rod, jaw clenched hard. Jeanette wondered why the insistence on fighting it, when everything her body craved –the greatest pleasure imaginable to a Kindred— was right _there_. Still, _somehow_ , she averted her gaze from the liquid siren’s call.

“It’s –it’s too barbaric.” she grit out. Jeanette nearly burst out laughing. “Can you get me a glass?”

A very prominent eye-roll later, the elder vampire took the blood away and carefully poured it into a large protein shaker, absent lid. “You’re _such_ a Ventrue sometimes.” she huffed, handing the cup to the fledgling.

Jeanette was fed and everything, but the thirst of a Kindred never really went away. Some echo was always there, easier to ignore as years passed, yet still gnawing for _more_. The sight of Iris drinking deeply, eyes closed in the absolute, soul-shuddering bliss of feeding, made her own throat burn. Her fangs ached. Without realizing it, she’d sat right next to her on the bed, watching the subtle movement of her pale throat, transfixed.

When the cup was completely drained, a single line of red ran down the corner of Iris’ lip, beading at her chin. Jeanette wasn’t aware that she’d leaned in until the crimson nectar touched her tongue. There was half a millisecond of utter stillness.

And then.

Almost as if possessed, Iris _crashed_ their lips together. Hands grabbed at her elbow and side, dragged her impossibly closer. Jeanette ended up straddling her thighs, one hand around her throat to keep her eager kitten under control as the Malkavian pushed her tongue into her mouth. Feeding tended to bring out the kinkier side of Kindred and although she wasn’t complaining, she didn’t want Iris to do anything stupid that would trigger her own primal instincts.

Blushing to Life to get the most out of the experience was automatic; a reflex, similar to how she couldn’t help but move against the lithe body under hers. The way the blood-dazed Ventrue urged her thighs further apart wasn’t helping –or perhaps it was helping too _much_.

Everything was gasps, withheld moans, licks, wet heat.

Jeanette was _this_ close to throwing caution to the wind and riding her companion to the peak she could already see at the horizon of her passion—

But. The scent of vampire vitae brought her grinding to a begrudging halt. Iris’ wounds were still raw. The fledgling was a bit too lost to notice, but all their grabbing and clawing had reopened some –and that was the exact opposite of her visit’s purpose.

Jeanette had to be the responsible elder –haha, the very notion was a joke sprinkled with irony— for once in her unlife.

“Calm down, babe.” She lightly pushed with the hand still around Iris’ throat. “Snap out of it.” A soft shake later, Iris was pressing _herself_ back into the headboard, almost as if trying to disappear in it. Her eyes took a very ‘oh fuck’ hue, tongue pressed to a fang guiltily. Like a sexy, flushed, reprimanded kitten.

“I… am _so_ sorry.” She was the very equivalent of ‘let the earth open up and swallow me whole’. “I-I don’t know what came over me.”

“Shh, don’t ruin the buzz.” Jeanette lightly shook her again. A heterochrome gaze travelled down as she did, at the bandages wrapped around Iris’ firm stomach and arm, no longer all white. The blonde’s hand slowly dropped back to her side, but she didn’t move completely off the Ventrue’s legs. “So. Tell me what went down at the fiery party.”

“Your Primogen was out of his damn _mind_.” Green orbs turned stormy, accusing. “There were so many traps… so many experiments on ghouls…”

There had been rumors –but Grout had been very careful about withholding his knowledge and thoughts from his clan. Through Iris’ eyes, Jeanette could finally see his depravity. In his obsession to explain the roots of the Malkavians’ madness, he had gone completely mad, himself.

“I can’t say I feel sorry for not getting to him in time.” Iris admitted.

“Yeeeeah, even by Malk standards he got a bit too messed up these last few decades...” Jeanette nodded. “I’m curious, duckling. Did his divine judgement come from rebel hands, do you think, or burning silver?” The elder studied the Ventrue’s pretty face _close_ as she delivered her question.

Iris’ body hardened, went a tad defensive. “I saw Nines on my way in, but he wasn’t acting like himself. It’s like he didn’t even recognize me. It was… weird.” she said. Either she was the world’s best liar, or it wasn’t a lie. Jeanette would put her money on the latter. “The Hunter didn’t do it. Grout’s skeleton was still there– chained, staked, crucified. It doesn’t make sense.”

“ _Doesn’t_ it?” Jeanette raised an eyebrow, played dumb for more information.

She had been around long enough to know Hunters did not leave skeletons behind, nor did they bother with theatrics like chains and crucification. It was as much a rumor as that of garlic repelling vampires. The whole Hunter jam was to erase any and all supernaturals from the world entirely, as swiftly as possible. 

“No.” Iris said, a tad too surely, too quickly. “Hunters don’t kill like that.”

Yes, it was pretty evident whoever did it was trying too hard to frame both Nines and the Hunter Order, it just so happened that the first version suited the Prince’s agenda better. However… Jeanette was less interested in that and far more focused on another juicy titbit…

A slow, curious grin spread ruby lips over a pearly fang as the Malkavian leaned in. “Oh, really?” she asked, an amused husk coloring her voice. “And how would _you_ know how Hunters kill, my precious little duckling?” 

Iris usually breathed out of habit. She wasn’t breathing then. A perfect, unmoving porcelain statue.

A few silent beats stretched between them. And then…

Jeanette laughed. A high, clear sound that bounced off the thin walls.

She eased back, finally climbing off the neonate with an affectionate pat to her cheek. “Relax, pretty, I’m just messing with you.” Or was she? She wasn’t entirely certain herself. “Well, then. I got places to do, people to be. We’ll reunite sweet and soon, okay?”

Iris still didn’t completely relax, though at least she wasn’t sitting there like her bed was a minefield about to blow up in her face, anymore. “Y-yeah, I’ll come by once I’m healed.”

“Dream of me.” Jeanette paused at the door to throw her a suggestive wink. “Completely—”

“Clothed.” Iris finished the sentence, smirking, before she could say ‘naked’.

Jeanette’s giggling, “Ta, kitten.” lingered at the vacant space she left behind. 

On her way back to Asylum, though, the Malkavian's mind drifted. There was a puzzle she'd been meaning to reconstruct for some time, but too many pieces were missing, too many others blurry and not fitting quite right;

That look in those green eyes when she'd handed her a Hunter's knife to slash the paintings with. Green and black, that was what Iris was, so why did Jeanette also see white when she wasn't directly looking? The visions of a bloody hand on the inside of a shower stall and the cracked cross necklace on the pile of clothes outside of it. Good with both firearms and blades. Military training that wasn't quite so. Always instinctively protecting the neck in combat, a tad too familiar with Kindred attack patterns. So devout. So protective. Dark that was light. And what was it her clan had taken to calling her...? 

Argent. 

A little late to the joke, but she finally got the punchline.

Jeanette threw her head back and laughed in the middle of the street. _Argent?!_ _Oh, my naughty mad geniuses, you!_

The voices erupted into a series of snickers and giggles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you realize an entire fucking network of crazies have known all along... 
> 
> But seriously. Gotta love Malkavians. In my head, the more 'new' and batshit insane a Malk is, the more insight they got, so it makes sense that Jeanette, who can 'tone it down' a notch, wasn't the first one to 'see'. So it makes even more sense that Therese, who actively fights her Malkavian nature and tries to distance herself as far as possible from the whispers, is still very much in the dark. 
> 
> That being said, I was so pumped to write and post this chapter. And since I had the time, a real blessing these days, the update comes early. Before I go MIA again for who knows how long. 
> 
> Thanks again for all your support, it means the world to me and keeps this story going!


	11. Touch

**[Therese]**

Five more nights passed.

Things in her clan had calmed enough for Therese to be able to focus on her Barony and multiple investments, without hearing a ceaseless cacophony of whines, fearful musings and baseless conspiracy theories in the back of her head. Thanks to her sources and Jeanette’s prying within the Anarchs, she had a solid idea of who _wasn’t_ to blame –and that it was in her best interests to _not_ get further involved in Grout’s mystery case.

_There’s enough to worry about, as is._

On the positive side of things, an older vampire who didn’t quite agree with Therese’s views had been removed, a fact that, on the long run, could only be convenient for her.

The Kindred wheel of power had been stationary for far too long.

An odd chain of events that began with Iris’ unauthorized Embrace made it spin and the Baron was certain this was only the beginning. She’d be keeping a close eye on the wheel’s rotations for the time being, until she deemed the circumstances right for her to act. To grab at it, contesting for her own place at the top.

Future plans aside, Therese checked her schedule for any immediate engagements that needed her attention. Her gaze traveled down a long list of names she needed to call, halting at the very end, a date written in bold letters and underlined with vivid red marker. _Darn_.

It was a gala taking place the following evening, organized by the mayor and his wealthy circle of businessmen. Therese could not be left in the dark about the under-the-table deals taking place there, nor miss the chance to seal her own. Money was a profound form of power –and there would be millions to gain if she played her cards right.

Not to mention, she could not very well let Kine think they held the upper hand in _her_ city.

A faint sigh escaped her lips. She was not looking forward to spending an entire night socializing with rich, arrogant humans whose _appreciative_ thoughts about her showed in their eyes like an overly graphic film. Even less thrilling was the idea of having to take someone as an escort, both for appearance’s sake and for protection. After all, Kindred were many things, but ‘immune to firearms’ was _not_ one of them.

Bertram Tung easily had the most combat experience out of everyone else in her Barony… but he was a –filthy, unsightly, untrustworthy— Nosferatu _rascal_ , so that immediately ruled him out. 

Ares was her club’s bouncer and a Brujah… but that was part of the problem. He was loyal to her paycheck, of course, but not exactly the type to come across as elegant even if she doubled the cash. Therese had made an attempt in the past out of lack of better options and the results were so-and-so. He’d done a good job of keeping the lechers away with his permanently unpleasant-borderline-aggressive expression… but he’d also kept the investors at about the same distance.

The rest were too mediocre and didn’t inspire _any_ sort of confidence. All signs pointed to Therese having smarter uses for her money and that she was _far_ better off protecting herself. _At least then I won’t have to count on a shield that doesn’t_ exist _._

As the Baron was debating the issue, she received a text from her guards that Iris was there to see her. The command to let her up was immediate. Light steps tapped across the hallway’s carpet to her door, before a soft knock came.

“Come in.”

A raven-haired head came into view. “Hi.” Her step was energetic, skin glowing, lips moist and eyes no longer sunken as she made her way to the chairs in front of Therese’s office.

“You’ve healed well.” the blonde commented.

“In big part thanks to you.” Iris nodded in gratitude.

“Don’t mention it.” she caught herself saying, even though it _was_ good for the Ventrue to owe her a favor. “Now. Tell me what you saw in Grout’s mansion. Leave no detail out.”

So, Iris told her everything. From his perverted experiments on ghouls to his documentations on Malkavians, to the state his skeleton was found in. Therese filed away all the useful information in silence.

“And that’s about it. Is there anything else you’d like to ask me?” As the Ventrue concluded her report on the nightmares within the Primogen’s estate… the Baron was struck by a sudden realization.

Iris was good-looking.

 _Very_ good-looking.

She held the manners of a Ventrue without the agenda of one, at least not yet. The integrity and potential in her were a rare find and most importantly, she was _good_ in combat. In short, she fit into the profile of the perfect bodyguard…

If she wasn’t also a walking magnet for disaster.

“Actually, yes. But it’s unrelated.” Therese spoke up before she could regret her decision. Iris leaned a tad forward in her seat, curious. “How would you feel about being my bodyguard to the mayor’s gala, tomorrow evening?”

Green eyes went wide. Iris shifted in her seat. “Well…”

“Expenses on your outfit and weapons are on me. Plus, you’ll get paid six hundred per hour that we stay.” Therese said coolly.

“ _What_?” The Ventrue’s expression was almost comical.

“Not enough? Eight hundred can be arranged.” the Baron negotiated, poker-faced. Money was a non-issue.

“No. _No_ –six hundred is already a generous amount.” she replied, still not looking the least bit comfortable with the arrangement. “Are you sure you want _me_ as your bodyguard, though?” 

“Frankly? No.” Therese stated, rapid-quick, to which Iris gave a small –somewhat cute— chuckle. “You’re as likely to attract trouble as you are to repel it, but I’m willing to take the risk. Besides, you’ll mostly be there for showcase purposes; I just need someone reliable for the worst-case scenario. It never hurts to be cautious.”

“Alright. What time is the Gala?” Iris asked.

“It starts at nine in the evening. Should be a good enough time for you to be up and ready.” The Malkavian mused. Fledglings did tend to be dead-asleep during the day and still sluggish an hour or two after the sun had gone down. “I’ll have someone deliver you clothes and equipment to your hotel room. Do we have an agreement?”

Iris’ lips pulled into a slight, intrigued curve. “I’ll be here at eight thirty. Sharp.”

…

_Eight twenty-five._

Therese waited a few ways off Asylum with her driver ready, dressed to the nines in an elegant black dress and an equally expensive jacket. Her blonde hair was gathered up in an intricate updo, with twin golden locks free-falling down the sides of her face and neck.

Two minutes later, the corner of her eye caught something incredibly attention-grabbing, prompting the turn of her head towards its direction. The most stunning Kindred she’d _ever_ laid eyes approached, stepping out of the shadows in all the timelessly regal, suit-clad glory of the Ventrue. To say Iris finally _looked_ her clan would be an understatement.

Therese hoped the prominent _wow_ in the back of her head was Jeanette’s input and not her own thoughts.

“Good evening.” Iris greeted through the faintest incline of her chin, a motion she made seem far more charming than it should be. “Oh –how neat. Your dress is bulletproof.”

Therese felt the corner of her mouth pull up. “Good eye.” Just like Iris’ suit and the shirt underneath it, the fabric was specially made. She did not take _any_ risks when it came to security. Hundreds of years’ worth of planning and social climbing could not be ruined from a mere oversight.

“I have to justify my pay.” Iris said as she walked over to the SUV and held the door open for her. “After you.”

Steel-blue eyes caught the outline of the silver knives strapped tight to the Ventrue’s side, as her Burberry cardigan opened further during her ducking into the car. Therese was certain the pistol she had sent her was hidden in an equally subtle fashion, but there was something about the arrangement of the weapons she found familiar.

_Where have I seen it before…?_

The voices picked up, causing a sudden headache, but Therese managed to shoo them away, to the faintest volume they could reach. To distract herself, she turned to her company, seated a comfortable –for the blonde— distance from her. If only more people occupied so little space and respected her boundaries, she would not be opposed to the occasional company. Extra points if they smelled so _clean_.

During the drive, Therese informed the Ventrue of where to stand and how to be, what times were okay to approach her and when she should not. Iris absorbed everything like a sponge, quick and just as quiet.

When the SUV pulled over outside the Gala, Iris was the first to exit, emeralds doing a quick scan of their surrounding rooftops and individuals. Therese pulled her hundred-dollar gloves out of her purse and tugged them on. Her dreaded part of the night was rapidly approaching, after all –the handshakes. _Ugh._

There was no way in hell she was letting _anybody_ , much less a sweaty human, touch her skin.

“Don’t worry –there’s nobody hostile around. I already checked.” Therese whispered practically under her breath as they walked up the stairs. Her escort could hear her just fine. “No snipers on the rooftops, either.”

Iris’ surprise showed for a moment, though it was gone in a flash. “Right. Auspex.” She was a fast learner.

Inside, the brilliant lights of large chandeliers made the luxurious chamber glitter in golden hues, akin to an ancient king’s treasury. Therese did not own the place, but she was the only monarch her eyes acknowledged in it. When she was approached by several men and women opting for a similar title, Iris, as instructed, hang back, yet never too far.

Kine came and went.

Time tickled by in dull conversations.

At some points, Therese checked on her escort out of boredom. It wasn’t like there were better things to look at. What surprised her was how Iris mingled without mingling, accepting the attention of the humans chatting her up to not stand out, yet keeping her own on her charge. Even so, it wasn’t done in an overbearing way.

The Baron didn’t dare admit it was sort of… a nice change of pace, to have someone so dedicated to her protection. Not that she needed any, but two sets of eyes were better than one.

More talking. More handshakes. Some innuendos and suggestions she glacially brushed aside, following up some profitable agreements.

Two hours passed.

And then… Iris walked up to her. “Excuse me, may I steal the lady for a while?” she asked with a thousand-kilowatt smile that dazed everyone in a two-kilometer radius. Therese, however, was no easily-fooled Kine; she could immediately tell something was wrong. Judging by the tightness of Iris’ shoulders, quite wrong. 

The Baron took a few steps to the right, to a quieter spot. “What is it?”

“There are Hunters around.” Iris replied, a mix of certain, cautious and unafraid.

Therese did not ask how she could tell. More pressing was to check for herself. Ice-blue eyes looked over her company’s shoulder –and then _truly_ looked, with Auspex.

Hunters had a… particular glimmer to their auras. Perhaps it was their faith or their training with sanctified weapons that rendered it brighter. Therese had learned, in her many years, that there even existed special few Hunters that could burn Kindred with a touch –and according to her peers, their auras were _blinding_ witnessed through Auspex.

Thankfully, no such case was present.

But the Hunter threat was very real still.

“Why are they here?” she wondered aloud. Her discipline was still in effect when she turned down to look at Iris… and Therese froze.

All Kindred appeared as deep mauve shades to her. The Ventrue was no different… but there were flecks of silvery white breaking off the edges of the purple, giving a faint shimmer before fading away. In all her years, the Baron had never seen such a thing. _Is it because of her unparalleled Humanity…?_

Either way, it was—

Mesmerizing.

Utterly beautiful.

“Ah… from what I’ve heard, Hunters these days have taken to infiltrating events like these. Looking for vampires in high positions and such. Those that don’t come out during patrols.” Iris said.

Therese blinked the enhanced sight away. She’d missed the start of her partner’s sentence but got her point regardless. “They can’t do anything in this place.”

“No, but they can determine who is what, for when they _can_ do something.” Iris tilted her head.

“Well. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Just Blush and mingle. They’ll go away.” It was the standard thing to do. The Baron wouldn’t be staying long after that revelation, but still had some arrangements to make—

“Therese.” Iris’ voice stopped her in her tracks. Keen worry flickered in her eyes. “These guys are good. I… think they suspect you.”

“ _How_ do you know?” Blue eyes narrowed, dropping the temperature around them several degrees.

“If I… if I was a Hunter, you’d be the first person I’d suspect.” was hesitantly said.

Therese’s lips parted. “I force myself to blink and breathe every five _seconds_.” A hint of aggravation seeped into her tone. She couldn’t fathom what would give her away when she took such _meticulous_ care of her every micro-move.

“That’s… not always enough.” Iris struggled to come out with it. “It’s the general way you hold yourself. You’re distant, rigid but at the same time, your moves are too fluid. You never falter in your step or what you say and you look aware of _everything_ around you.” she explained. “That glass that Hunter knocked over at the buffet, earlier? He did it on purpose. Your eyes followed the sound across the room. Humans don’t do that.”

_What the…_

There were several questions Therese wanted answered. How in Caine’s name could a fledgling give _her_ pointers on Hunters’ methods? _How_ did she know all those things? How _long_ had the Malkavian been around on events and galas, betraying _dead_ -giveway signs as a Kindred?

It only then occurred to her the Hunters’ faces were familiar. They must have been suspecting her for a while.

 _“Someone’s fucked and not in a good way~”_ Jeanette’s voice chimed in the depths of her mind.

Therese only growled back a _“Not. Now. Jeanette.”_

_“Eh, I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. You're in good hands.”_

_“What’s_ that _supposed to mean?”_

Of course, the troublemaker took that moment to recede where Therese couldn’t reach her, anymore. The fact _both_ their lives were facing a crisis and she was laughing it off frustrated the Baron even more. She didn’t even want to imagine a similar scenario where Jeanette was the one in control. Then again… all her frolicking with Kine must have also her pass as one. _Despicable_.

Therese willed her nerves away. She spent a healthy amount of blood to Blush to Life. Except she had no real experience with Hunters –and dreaded to admit she was out of her depth on what to do next.

“Alright. Good news is, there’s still time to confuse them.” Iris stated. “No way they’ve decided you’re a Kindred yet, if they’re still looking for clues. If it were me, I’d stumble onto you by ‘accident’ to gage your reaction. Maybe even try to prickle your skin with something other than silver to see its effect. Or lack of thereof.”

“They are _not_ touching me.” Therese nearly grabbed Iris by the lapel for even saying it.

“There is a second option. But it’s just as bad.” The Baron took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she’d hear next. “I mean, depends. Are you more comfortable with _me_ touching you?”

 _Infinitely_. “Yes.” Okay, the answer was a tad too immediate for Therese’s liking, but not untrue.

Iris lifted her hand and wordlessly asked for the blonde’s. Her skin was warm from the Blush of Life, the elder could feel it through the satin fabric of her gloves. For a few seconds, enough for the Hunters to see, no doubt, she just held her hand…

…Like a couple would.

Therese played along and walked close enough to bump shoulders on their way out. The experience… could have been worse. By some miracle, there was no psychological after-effect, no churning of her gut or intense feelings of revulsion. It was surprisingly _normal_.

“Do you see that little bump in the carpet? Stumble.” Iris whispered, so low even a Kindred would have trouble hearing it.

The blonde didn’t like any of her options, but the fact she wasn’t having a panic attack with Iris so close to her meant there was a –loathe as she was to admit it— base level of trust between them. It could probably stand to be pushed a little further.

So, Therese did her best to hook her heel at the uneven spot on the carpet– and let her body collide with Iris’, who ‘clumsily’ caught her.

“Whoa, my God, be careful baby.” she laughed. It was a nice sound. The blonde focused on that and not the word before it.

It was shameful; everyone started _whispering_. And some were _very_ obscene things about the two of them. Therese didn’t think people were so invested in her love life.

Alas. It was also working.

Out of the corner of her vision, she could see the Hunters throw each other strange looks.

Iris’ hand, always a gentle pressure, led her down the stairs and then right, to the corner of the building. Therese fired a text to her driver to get there _fast_. In the meantime, however, there were still eyes on them. Through Auspex, the elder could make out two more Hunters on the far opposite side of the road, hiding behind a pillar and a bus stop. She immediately let her company know.

“Fuck.” Iris cursed under her breath. “…I have an idea.”

“Do it.”

“I need your word that you won’t kill me, though.” The sheepish smile took some of the tension off the situation.

Therese momentarily tightened her hold on the fledgling. “Just do it.”

Iris tugged on her hand to bring her closer –too close— then softly turned her and pressed her to the wall behind them. She leaned, slowly, into her neck without touching it, an intimate embrace that, to the outside eye, no doubt looked like she was kissing her skin. Therese’s _every_ muscle locked up at the proximity.

But.

 _But_.

She didn’t get the overpowering urge to push her away.

“Okay?” Iris asked, her hands barely a whisper at the elder’s sides. She was holding her clothes more than she was holding her.

There was a massive level of respect to everything she did, from the way she’d leaned in, to the way she stood, not fully pressing against her, not boxing her in. Even the leg between her own, scandalous as it seemed, wasn’t really making contact with Therese.

And the Baron… found that she could let herself breathe.

That she could ease the death-hold she had on Iris’ hand, to leave hers on the lapel of her cardigan. That she could function. That she wasn’t in pain. That she wasn’t falling _apart_. 

She was just –warm.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.” was spoken, quietly, by Iris’ ear. The Ventrue shifted a tad from the ghost of her breath, like she’d been tickled, like a cat whose ear was lightly tapped.

“No, don’t worry.” Lies.

They remained that way for several seconds, which felt both too long and too short.

“…Are they gone?”

Therese had been too distracted by the dizzying scent of her perfume and the hammering of her own heart to look.

“They’re… leaving.” she observed. The Hunters’ outlines barely showed at the edges of her Auspex range.

Iris pulled back as slow as she'd leaned in, taking all her warmth with her. Therese’s loose strands of hair barely brushed her cheek on the way. The blonde's fingers apologetically smoothed the lapel of the Ventrue’s cardigan from the crinkles she’d made, before lowering back to her own sides.

It all felt… strange.

The threat had passed, but she was not overcome with relief the ordeal was over. Instead, she felt vulnerable and uncertain and _cold_. Cold to the bone. It was almost as bad as her aversion to touch, except that one was familiar. It had been with her, part of her, an entire life. She knew what she wanted and it was to keep everyone _away_ from her. Far enough that nobody would ever dare touch her again.

This time? She didn’t know what she wanted, other than to stop feeling this hollow ache. 

Thankfully, Iris wasn’t looking at her. It was evident in the line between her brows she had her own demons to deal with. _Come to think of it…_ Therese mused, there always was a deep-rooted melancholy to her green gaze, not easy to make out or name most of the time. A sight as sad as it was captivating, like a winter painting the blonde found increasingly difficult to stop admiring.

Absent thought, the Baron’s gloved fingers reached between them to tilt Iris’ chin towards her. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm.” she nodded. It could have been Therese’s imagination that she’d leaned into her touch for the split second that it lasted.

“…I apologize for this. I had no idea I had such obvious Kindred tells.” she commented, more bothered by the fact than she was willing to admit.

“They’re not _that_ glaring…” Iris began, trailing off.

“You said it yourself I’d be the first person you’d suspect.” A slight accusation.

“Well, yes but.” The Ventrue licked her lips. “It’s –not just movements and habits. It’s the… whole thing. And you can’t really change that.” she stated.

“The whole thing?” Therese asked. She didn’t even know if she should take offense.

Iris bit the inside of her lip. “You’re kind of –well. You –stand out?” she tried. The elder’s brow furrowed further. “Not in a bad way.” A sharp breath. “I mean you’re, like, _way_ too good-looking to be a human.” Blood rose up Iris’ neck as she said it, turning away with a palm over her face.

She was _so_ —

Therese chuckled. Barely fought back a full-blown laugh.

“Am I, now.”

Iris couldn’t even look her in the _eye_.

The Baron’s driver found the best –or worst, depending on how one looked at it— time to pull over in front of them. Therese was tempted to comment on whether the Ventrue would _ever_ meet her gaze again in that lifetime, but she slid into the car without saying anything. Iris already was just about ready to spontaneously combust into flames.

“You are not coming?”

“Just remembered I have somewhere to be.” was the very obvious lie she didn’t even _try_ to hide. “Goodnight!” Iris waved and disappeared like an apparition.

Therese shook her head, lip curved in an amused smile.

“Back to my office.” she told the driver.

…

She didn’t breathe inside Asylum, not until she was standing at the hallway of her workplace. The Blush of Life had almost faded away, leaving Therese’s skin cool once more, a tad paler, considerably less sensitive.

Blue eyes fell down to her own fingers.

The vampiric numbness had always been a gift for her. A detachment from the wraiths of a past haunting her. It was a sterilized lack of sensation; like looking at the world behind thick glass. She could see everything and feel almost none of it. Nothing could get through to her. _Nothing_. 

And that had been a good thing.

But then why was it suddenly occuring to her that she lost something important along the way of embracing that dispassion? Why was she suddenly wondering when the last time she’d laughed –honestly, _genuinely_ laughed— was?

...why could she not remember?

Was there a hint of truth, after all, to Jeanette calling her a block of ice?

Speaking of the devil…

 _“Had fun?”_ Jeanette’s eager voice came, loud, in her head.

“Not by any stretch of the word. And certainly not by your definition of it.” Therese replied.

 _“Is that riiight. Because I could swear you were all smile-y earlier, before you closed right up like a flytrap again.”_ The chaotic twin clapped her hands together to make her point.

“I wasn’t smile-y.” Therese sneered.

 _“Aw, but you were. See, my talented kitten is a positive influence on everyone around her. Too good for this world, really.”_ Jeanette commented.

“Nobody in this world stays good for long.” she countered. Iris was a Ventrue. Sooner or later, her blood would take over. Change her. It wasn’t a battle a Kindred could win. “And the fledgling doesn’t have _any_ sort of influence on me.” Except she was trying too hard to believe her own words as she spoke them.

 _“Denial, much? You’re usually sooo uncomfortable with people complimenting or even commenting on your looks.”_ Like _he_ did before he— Jeanette didn’t say it, but it was a shared thought. _“But it’s fine when she does it. More than fine, maybe? Actually –yeah._ More _than fine.”_

Therese’s fingers curled into her desk. She took a breath. Held it. Jeanette was starting to annoy her much more than usual, much faster. “Don’t try to project your highschool crush on Iris onto me.” Poison seeped into her tone. _And don’t come crying to me when it burns you_ , she thought bitterly.

 _When she_ leaves _._

It was only a matter of time.

 _“Oh, of course. Silly me, I forgot. Your Imperial Majesty is too above such things.”_ Jeanette stated, tone dripping with sarcasm. _“…But you liked it, didn’t you?_

A devilish giggle.

_“When she touched you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iris. Aka when you're charming as fuck but still a royal gay mess for the pretty blonde vampire. An absolute mood. Who can blame her though? Therese has the strict schoolteacher vibe we all at one point crushed hard on, from middle to high school. I have SUCH a soft spot for characters like her, who look like a grade-A bitch (and maybe even are) but to the person they like they show a whole different side that's soft and fun. Therese and Iris are a few ways off of that still, but getting there ;)
> 
> Don't be strangers, share your thoughts with me :) 
> 
> Until next time, stay healthy, stay awesome.


	12. Complicated Attraction

**[Iris]**

She was a regular at Surfside Diner.

A regular customer. A regular protector, though Grace and the people working for her would never know. It was almost a nightly ritual for her to walk up to the counter at twelve, order their most expensive coffee and fluidly slide into the booth at the far corner of the shop.

When it was her shift, Grace came by to talk to her. She always treated her to pastries the Ventrue had once loved but could no longer taste, a gesture that never failed to tug at her unbeating heartstrings. When it was too busy, or the middle-aged owner wasn’t around, Iris scrolled through her phone or read a book in peace and quiet, _always_ aware of the people coming into the café.

Some were idiots who stumbled in, drawn by the lights, after they’d drank their asses off in Asylum. They didn’t have malicious intent, but Iris intervened when they caused trouble.

Others were not so innocent. The vampire made sure to get rid of those types subtly and efficiently, before they even set foot inside. She’d gotten very good with Dominate –oddly enough, it came naturally to her— and making them leave took barely any blood or effort.

That evening was appreciably quiet.

Grace took care of her few customers and then came to join Iris at her solitary booth. “My favorite consumer.” she greeted, the crinkles at the corners of those kind eyes deepening with her smile. 

“Hey, Grace. You look good.” Iris lowered her book onto the table. It was clear the woman was resting better than when they’d first met.

“I am. I could finally afford another person working here, so the shifts are easier.” she explained, gratitude deeply engraved in her gaze and voice. Although she had no evidence the generous tips were from Iris –the fledgling made sure to be sneaky about it— Grace seemed to have a pretty good idea.

“I’m glad.”

“Plus, not getting robbed every month helps.” the woman added. “You… wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Hm? No.” Iris lied, completely straight-faced. “Maybe kicking those guys’ asses helped build a reputation for the shop.” A tiny shrug accentuated the words.

Grace… was not entirely convinced. “Well, I don’t know what you do or how you do it, but ever since you came here, everything has been going… better, for me. And I can’t thank you enough.”

Iris already knew of her struggles. A woman her age overworking herself to exhaustion, in a coffee shop open twenty-four hours a day. All to support her grandchildren, left with just their father after her daughter died in a car crash. She didn’t want to think too deeply on her similarities with another woman, once the shining star of her life –and she didn’t want Grace to see in someone like her the daughter she’d lost.

However. The lines blurred, sometimes.

As a human, Iris had failed to protect her mother. As a vampire, hell would freeze over before she let any harm come to the woman in front of her.

“I don’t—”

“You may say it’s a coincidence –but I don’t believe in coincidences.” Grace stated. “I believe in God. In His aid when we need it.”

“I am _not_ God-sent.” Iris’ fingers flexed so hard on her glass cracks formed. Luckily, they were not easily distinguishable to the human eye. _Not by a long shot. I can’t even look at the sun without flinching._

_I…_

_I_ burn _under the same light I swore to serve._

“You wouldn’t know it if you were.” Grace countered.

“I have a pretty good indication I’m not.” Bitten, embraced and tainted by the darkness as she was. “Can we please drop this?” Iris huffed.

“Okay.” the woman acquiesced. “That jacket looks amazing on you, by the way. So stylish.” came the heartfelt compliment.

Iris’ lip ever-so-slightly curved upwards. “Thanks. It’s a gift.”

“From your rich, beautiful girlfriend, no doubt.” was said. A frown creased the Ventrue’s brow. She was just about to ask what in the world made Grace think she had one, when the human clarified: “The one I saw you walk with, one or two nights. You know. The classy blonde who owns the club.”

_Th—_

Iris chocked on _air_.

“ _Therese_?” her voice came out in a high-pitched whine. “We’re not— We aren’t— what gives you _that_ idea?!”

A warm laugh escaped her company. “First of all, that reaction. You were all dressed up the other night, so I assumed you were going on a date.” Iris rapidly shook her head ‘no!’. “Plus in the five years since she moved here I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.”

Iris took a deep breath. “We are not dating.” she said, calm and certain. _I don’t think she even really likes me at all._

Grace nodded her head with a faint ‘hm’ sound. “You should. You look good together.”

Panic attack number two was upon her. The Ventrue was infinitely glad in that moment that hadn’t been drinking anything or needed oxygen to survive. She couldn’t explain _why_ the thought of Therese and her flustered her to this extent, but… it did. “No. I mean yes –but no. It didn’t even cross my mind.”

It was crossing it after saying that, though.

“I still think there’s a spark there.” Grace was teasing, at that point.

“No spark!” Iris exclaimed.

“So, you don’t like her?”

The Ventrue… didn’t know how to answer that. Appearance-wise, Therese was _beyond_ gorgeous –and beyond her type, a part of her hurried to add. But. The Baron was also imperial, powerful, distant and _cold_ and they weren’t close. She respected her, but she didn’t know herself if she liked her, much less romantically.

Jeanette was easier to _like_. Slightly manipulative –at understandable levels considering she was a vampire elder— but funny and friendly, open, attractive. Thinking about her when she was alone at night didn’t ring alarm bells. The Ventrue could justify, in her mind, _wanting_ to touch her.

Then again… weren’t they the same person? One book, just different chapters? 

Iris didn’t know what to say.

She chose not to say anything. 

_…_

Again, with that Sarcophagus bullshit.

Iris had to jump through hoops for Baron Isaac for a _clue_ on its location. _Fetch me this, fetch me that. God, elders are all the same…_

Apparently, there was a weird studio making short horror films about vampires, whose plots were a bit too close to the truth for comfort. There was always the central idea of an ‘organization’ of supernaturals pulling the strings, keeping themselves hidden while they made humans dance on their leash. In the end, it all led to gory deaths, rendered with far too many effects and filters to tell if they were real or staged.

But even the possibility of them being linked to the kidnappings around town…

Iris was not so deeply invested in the job just for Isaac’s sake.

The Ventrue was perched on top of a rooftop like a gargoyle statue, listening in to a couple of Kine her investigation had deemed suspicious. Sadly, they weren’t discussing anything useful.

Iris leaned a tad closer, inspecting her suspects. Two seconds and a buzz later, she was nearly jumping off the building in fright.

The fledgling cursed under her breath as she fished for her phone. One text from Jeanette, the screen read in bright white letters. ‘ _Hey –a duck emoji— where are you? Miss you xoxoxo.’_

Green eyes rolled, fondly. A quick text was fired back before she could overthink whether it was too curt or too short. _‘Sorry, busy.’_

Another buzz, lighting-fast. _‘You’re always busy these days! Come visit meeeee im lonely :(’_

A huff of exasperation escaped her lips. She had missed the familiarity of Santa Monica and the mostly-friendly faces there. Seeing as the tape case was leading nowhere, perhaps it would be good to take one or two nights off for a mentality reset. All very good excuses for refusing to say she was missing a certain blonde, as well.

Iris cast one last look at the Kine below before climbing down. Like a cat, graceful and soundless, she leapt from construction ladder to windowsill until her feet safely touched the ground.

The cab guy was there, on the opposite end of the street, as though he’d been expecting her. Iris got immensely unsettling vibes from the Kindred driver but always had too much on her mind to worry about to add him to the list. They made small talk, sometimes, to fill the silence, though some base part of her urged to open the door and flee as fast as possible.

Iris barely had time to get out of the car when she heard Jeanette’s squeal of delight.

The Malkavian shot out of the shadows like a bullet that _crashed_ into her form. It took nearly all of Iris’ strength to keep them upright. From the same darkness she occupied, a pair of red eyes watched. They weren’t hostile… but they weren’t pleased, either.

Iris, of course, knew of Bertram’s… fondness, for the blonde elder. It had never been explicitly stated, but it would take a blind man to not notice the way he looked at her. Out of respect for him, the fledgling tried to disentangle Jeanette’s arms from around her neck, a task as impossible as a human trying to break an iron collar with their bare hands.

“Catch you later, Bertie. Gotta go play with my kitten now.” she waved enthusiastically.

Iris cast him an apologetic look, already being pulled towards Asylum. Once they’d made it a safe distance, she cast Jeanette a sideways glance. “You know, you don’t have to put it like _that_ …” she began, though her company was oblivious. Or just didn’t care. Knowing her, probably the latter. “Because if looks could kill…” _I’d be dead a few dozen times over._

“Nah, Bertie knows better than to expect _any_ sort of exclusivity. Or that I wouldn’t dump everyone for my favorite pretty girl.” Jeanette replied like it was no big deal. At all. “And, well. If he doesn’t… he should.”

“I thought you said you were lonely.” the Ventrue raised an eyebrow. _Liar_.

“Oh, desperately, these nights, duckling.” the elder pressed a hand to her chest, overdramatically. Then, she pressed closer to Iris. “I’m just a lonely little girl on a rainy day. Know any games we can play?” That smirk though…

Iris called forth her Hunter willpower. “Got any board games?” she feigned total innocence.

Jeanette’s eyes did a full circle. “Think harder. And dirtier.” she replied.

“…Cards?” Iris couldn’t keep back a grin.

A blonde head dropped to her shoulder like a machine whose engine was abruptly killed. “Yeah, that’s _exactly_ what I meant, kitten. Wow, you’re in my head.” came the sarcastic remark.

Iris was pretty sure she couldn’t handle being in her head.

Just outside Asylum, Jeanette’s hand around her elbow tugged, to get her attention.

“You’re super tense.” she commented.

“Ah –yeah. Just my most recent errand run stressing me out.” Iris said. “If I watch another horror movie again it’ll be too soon…”

“You wanna do something?” Jeanette asked. “Do you _actually_ wanna play cards?”

“Not strip poker.” Iris held up a warning finger between them.

Jeanette pouted. “...Have I told you you’re no fun?”

…

They did end up playing actual poker.

And yes, if Iris didn’t already know, Jeanette was very cunning. There was never a tell to when she was bluffing, while the Ventrue couldn’t lie to save her life. Still, the banter in-between rounds helped take her mind off of everything else. Soon, the fledgling was entirely comfortable, free of the tightness of her muscles and the phantom ache it brought.

An indefinite amount of time passed, although the winner had been clear from the very beginning.

“I can’t raise you, I’m broke.” Iris threw her cards on the table between them.

“And I win!” Jeanette clapped her hands together. “Where’s my prize?”

“Right there.” Iris pointed to the stacks of fake money they’d been playing with.

“Pfft, I have plenty, already. Want somethin’ else.” she said, pouted, like a spoiled child.

The Ventrue made the mistake of asking “Like what?”.

One second, Jeanette was in her seat. The next, she was sliding between Iris and the arm of her armchair, not quite sitting in her lap… but that was only a matter of perspective. The fledgling would blush if she could. Over and over, she told the hopelessly gay part of her brain –not quite as dead as the rest of her— that this was nothing out of the norm for the Malkavian.

It didn’t mean anything. Even if Iris would have liked otherwise.

“What’s wrong?” Jeanette, of course, noticed her hesitation.

“It’s getting late. Early.” she replied, only a half-lie, as she made to stand.

A hand over her shoulder and stocking-clad legs on either side of hers boxed her in. The blonde’s expression wasn’t the usual playful, suggestive sexy. There was an unnamed emotion in the depths of her eyes –one looking greener than the other under certain lights— and a slight quiver to her lower lip.

“Can you stay a little while longer?” she asked. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I missed you, you know.” The way her pearly fang dug into the moist crimson of her lip then would haunt Iris for more than a few nights.

If that was a new seduction tactic…

It was working.

Jeanette’s pretty eyes flitted down. Iris felt, more prominently than she should, the whisper of her fingers up her neck, until they curled under her chin.

The kiss was inevitable, like lightning heralding thunder. Much slower and much softer than their previous ones, though no less enjoyable. Both their bodies warmed with blood as Iris’ arms came to hold the elder close, absent pulling. Only then did she notice how tense the Malkavian had been.

Whether it was from fear of rejection or something else entirely was impossible to know. Yet the coaxing of lips and tongue gradually drained away doubts and stress alike, until all that remained was a loose tangle of limbs and a closeness that had nothing to do with their proximity.

Iris couldn’t tell how long they had been at it for –vampire constitution had its perks— but she only felt the need to pull away when her body started growing heavy. Weary.

_What the…_

“I.. feel…” she slurred, more tired by the second. And that was when she realized the club’s music was no longer a faint humm through the soundproof. The whole room seemed lighter… 

“Oh, shit!” Jeanette leapt off her lap and over the armchair like a panther, straight towards the window. The binds were pulled shut in one swift motion, then heavy curtains were drawn over the glass.

“No…” Iris dropped her head to the cushioned arm in dismay.

“This… wasn’t part of my plan to get you in bed with me. Although maybe it should have been –it works wonders since you can’t go anywhere.” Jeanette gave her cutest, most charming shrug. “You know what they say, right? When life gives you lemons… you get under the sheets with the fiery neonate.”

“Can’t imagine I’ll be riveting company.” Iris couldn’t even complain as she shuffled her feet towards the queen-sized, heart-shaped bed. She practically collapsed face-first onto the mattress, having half a mind to remove her shoes. Her head slowly turned towards her companion, who was busy removing her makeup. “You’re not even affected…?”

She was so envious that dawn didn’t seem to be an issue for the elder while her own body turned into a sluggish _mess_.

“Give it one or two lifetimes.” Jeanette joined her on the bed, with just her white shirt and lacy crimson _underwear_ on. If Iris’ brain had been fully functional, it would have burned right there. “You’ll still need rest, but you won’t feel like a nodding-off kitten.”

Iris assisted as best as she could with getting under the hot-red sheets, but even _that_ was a struggle.

On one hand, some part of her burned with embarrassment at the situation. On the other, it wasn’t like she would sleep _with_ Jeanette, just _next_ to her. Friends did that –without the hot makeout prior to the sleeping part. They weren’t exactly friends, either, but there wasn’t a better –safer— word for it.

When Jeanette reached up to her hair and freed the golden waves from her pigtails, though, the word ‘friend’ cracked miserably in Iris’ mind. She looked… different, like that. With no makeup, hair down, slightly tired, the lines between her and Therese blurred... 

And Iris didn’t know if that was better or _worse_.

The thoughts flooding the Ventrue’s mind were the only thing keeping her from surrendering to the Kindred version of sleep. Facing away from Jeanette, practically hugging the _edge_ of the bed, did little to calm her nerves. Thankfully, the Blush had faded enough for her heart to not be beating, giving her away.

“If you go any farther, you’ll fall over.” Jeanette said, the beginning of a giggle to her voice. “Come closer. I don’t bite~”

“Not risking it.” Iris retorted, into her pillow.

But a hand wrapped around her middle and pulled her back and she was powerless to stop it. The world was already fading away.

“Sweet dreams, kitten.” A sweet, husky voice whispered by her ear, lulling her to sleep.

…

The sounds of running water stirred Iris from her deep slumber.

A door opened and closed while she was still in and out of consciousness. The smell of shampoo wafted to her nose, along with a perfume different than the one she’d fallen asleep inhaling. There was the clicking of heels across the room…

Green orbs blinked open, slowly.

The Ventrue made to shift; the faint rustle of sheets gave away that she was awake. All the while, she was hoping that the voice that greeted her ears next wouldn’t belong to—

“Rise and shine, Iris.” _Therese_.

The fledgling dropped her head back down into the pillow, wishing to disappear into it. “It’s not what you think!” she whispered, glad for the stylish room divider between the Baron’s office and Jeanette’s space.

“So, you didn’t just sleep here?” Was that a faint smile she could hear to her voice or were her ears deceiving her? Iris brushed it off as her vampiric senses still not fully having adjusted to the evening. 

“I did. Just sleep.” Iris replied, dragging herself out of bed. “ _Just_.” she repeated. Every part of her wanted to open the window and jump out, but her manners insisted she make the bed, instead.

“There’s warm water in the bathroom.” Therese said, cool and professional once more, focused on some paperwork.

Iris was tempted by the promise of a nice, hot bath. Her motel room’s water pressure was shit. And since the Baron was strangely okay with her presence there… 

“You wake up earlier than most neonates.” Therese’s voice made her pause mid-way to the bathroom.

“Really?” Iris asked, curiosity piqued. 

“Mhm. The sun just set. There is still light outside.” she answered without looking up from her work.

The Ventrue’s hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment. Sad green eyes turned towards the closed binds, at the lines of the last bits of light scattered into the atmosphere. She wanted so badly to push the window open completely, to tear everything blocking her view away. Maybe she was a coward for not doing so. 

_How long will I endure to live like this…?_

“Do you miss it?” She didn’t know what possessed her to ask. “…the sun?”

Therese looked up, their eyes meeting across the room. Her jaw worked. “I don’t know.” she said and that was the end of that conversation.

Iris wasn’t certain what she’d been expecting, but the glorious white shower that greeted her eyes was beyond even her wildest dreams. It was fit for a queen; spacious enough to welcome three people with ease and with a water massager to boot. She _did_ feel like royalty when she stepped under the spray, the temperature just right from the very first drops.

A pleasurable sigh escaped her lips. 

Iris closed her eyes, focusing on the calming sound of the waterdrops hitting her skin, on the feel of them warming it. Her vampiric senses were hesitantly allowed to expand, rendering the experience otherworldly. It wasn’t something she could enjoy in her rented room, with the creaking pipes and the crap soundproof and the uneven, often non-existent, pressure.

Her mind wondered.

Iris could feel, over the waterdrops, the ghost of Jeanette’s fingers at her neck, underneath her chin. The press of her lips over hers, the gentle weight of her body, the way she looked before she went to sleep. But it wasn’t Jeanette’s perfume tickling her nose and wrapping around her… and the mental images changed.

Suddenly, it was _Therese_ leaning over her in the dark, her hand wrapped around her neck. Suddenly, she was wondering—

 _No!_ Iris’ eyes snapped open.

 _No, no, no, no._ No _._ Her brain was just lagging still and confused on certain things. Jeanette was beautiful and tempting and had shown her so many things, including how to be more human as a monster. It was slightly problematic, but Iris could not deny she was attracted —attached— to her, in more ways than one. The same could _not_ be said for her glacial counterpart.

She didn’t like Therese.

…right?

The Ventrue got out of the shower, dressed and dried her hair. She didn’t let her thoughts wonder anymore. The problem only came after, when she stepped back into Therese’s office, determined to make a beeline for the exit…

“Do you, by any chance, have any experience with finances?” Therese asked.

“Yeah, quite a bit.” Iris blurted out. She inwardly cursed at herself for the honest answer.

When she actually turned to look at the Baron, though, it was clear something was off. The blonde wasn’t holding herself the usual, regal way. Her glasses were left at one corner of the desk, a hand was pressed at her temple. The Ventrue didn’t know if it was possible for a vampire to have migraines, but she looked like she was in _pain_.

“Can you come take a look at something? I can’t focus right now.”

Iris was next to her in a heartbeat. She pulled a chair to the side of the desk, careful about keeping a respectful distance. Therese wordlessly pushed the papers to her, shutting her eyes tighter as if to block the ache away. Something along the lines of ‘won’t shut up’ was breathed past her lips, but it was too low to pick up even for a Kindred.

Iris had managed the monastery’s resources during her years as a Hunter, so the endless lines of numbers in front of her were familiar. She went over construction costs and did the math on the investments' profits… until she found the mistake.

Blindly, she reached for the red marker on the desk, not noticing that Therese also went for it to give to her—

Their fingers touched.

Iris withdrew her hand, fully expecting the Baron to freeze up, but the woman only slightly paused.

“The error’s right here.” the Ventrue pointed, then proceeded to explain why.

Therese leaned a bit closer to examine the underlined lines. Iris should probably be more focused on the papers between them than the Baron herself… but.

The color of her eyes, steel, grey blue, was a bit too intense under the lighting not to admire. The stray curls that fell down the sides of her gorgeous face were a little too attractive, her scent, a mix of shampoo and night jasmine blooming in the chill of winter, too appealing.

Her parted lips too distracting.

And—

 _Fuck_. Iris thought.

She was —only a tad too severely— into Therese. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last thing Iris needed was to be gay for a vampire whose life and personality are more complicated than a ball of yarn. Buuuuut. The body likes what it likes and the heart wants what it wants. 
> 
> An important notice is that Iris has *very* little experience in relationships because her life in the monastery did not allow for such things. The other Hunters were her brothers and sisters and outside of it she only had (barely) flings. So Therese/Jeanette is her first real major *crush*. Which is why she nearly died from embarrassment when she called Therese good-looking, last chapter. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, they mean a lot! Always wanna hear your thoughts. Until next time, stay a w e s o m e


	13. Burn

**[Therese]**

An attractive scent tickled her awake.

Therese tried to place it in those soft moments between sleep and wakefulness; a night-blooming flower –gladiolus perhaps?— and something else, something clear and pure. Whatever it was, its source felt soft under her cheek. If it meant she’d wake up like that more often, it was more than welcome to stay there as a permanent addition to her bed.

Then she realized she wasn’t in her bed. The mattress underneath her was not heated nor as comfortable as the one in her apartment. Which could only mean… Jeanette fell asleep at the club again. That wasn’t unusual, but the weight next to her, the one she’d been comfortably resting against, _was_.

Therese’s brain started to catch up to the stimuli.

She wasn’t holding a pillow, she was holding something _considerably_ more alive. 

For a second, her body went into a state of shock. She didn’t want to open her eyes because she was terrified of _who_ she’d see next to her and in what _state_. All she wanted was to rinse herself _clean_ –and slap Jeanette hard for putting her in that situation.

They’d agreed to _never_ —!

Icy blue eyes snapped open to the sight of a pale neck, raven hair spilled behind it, across the pillow. A fully clothed, lithe body facing away from her, dead asleep, as most neonates were during the early evening. _Iris_.

The panic subsided.Therese wasn’t so pressed to bathe in antiseptic anymore. Iris was… alright. There was something about her that didn’t trigger the elder, that made their position slightly more acceptable. She’d still grill Jeanette later, but at least she wouldn’t feel sick to her stomach for the whole night.

Therese carefully removed her arm from around Iris’ waist. As expected, the fledgling was too deeply asleep to even stir. The Baron tried to wave off the embarrassment of how close she’d been holding her as she eased away, off the bed and towards her wardrobe.

On her way to her bathroom, she stole a glance at the sleeping Ventrue that made her unreasonably shy. Therese shook her head, didn’t dwell on it, instead focused on arranging her neatly folded clothes before stepping into her glorious shower. Best investment ever.

A good quarter later, dressed, perfumed and in her comfort zone once more, the Malkavian stepped back outside. One look at the window, past the closed binds, let her estimate the sun had just began to set. It was probably still in the sky, bathing the world in vivid, deep ochre and oranges. 

She always had a deep appreciation for art. 

Therese went to leave Jeanette’s bracelets and rings by her vanity mirror... and her eyes once again fell to Iris. Without realizing it, she’d already crossed the few paces between them and sat by the edge of the bed. Looking at her serene face, it was hard to imagine her capable of any harm. Really, the only thing she was missing was a halo and wings.

_What’s an angel doing among demons...?_

It was no use trying to lie to herself about it or pretend she didn’t see it. That was Jeanette’s thing and Therese was more mature than that. Iris _was_ different than most. Something set her apart from the rest, even from her fractured point of view. Despite their past differences, the blonde found herself wishing to preserve whatever that may be.

But. In order to do that, she was well aware it was best for Iris not to get further involved with Jeanette and her. Not as much for their own good as for hers. Nothing around them stayed right for long. Sooner or later, one or both of them would hurt her.

Therese didn’t like that thought.

Then the whispers came again, full force.

_‘What if… Argent burns you first? Silver is bad, bad, bad for Kindred—’_

_‘ObSIDiaN qUEen, wHY cAn’t yOu_ See _?_ _’_

_‘I thoughtttt the daughters of Janus knew?’_

_Shut up, shut up._ She closed her eyes tightly, yet the more she fought the onslaught of voices chiming in, the worse it got, sometimes. They didn’t always listen… and she couldn’t always shake them off. They were talking nonsense she couldn’t understand again, filling her head with white _noise_.

She tried to focus on her work, hoping they would go away.

They didn’t.

…

Iris couldn’t be in the military and an accountant at the same time in life, but damn if she wasn’t great at finding errors in finances. In the span of two hours, they’d gone over all of Therese’s investments and cut unnecessary costs by over twenty percent.

“Your help was invaluable tonight.”

It was a ‘good job’ in different words, but the blonde was also used to showing her gratitude with actions. Since she was thirsty, she went to her mini refrigerator and pulled a bottle of the highest quality blood. One glass was filled for herself and the other for Iris. 

The Ventrue’s eyes snapped to the blood, though she forced them away. Therese slid the glass to her, trusting her not to make a mess of her office. So far, signs were positive that she had excellent self-control.

“Here.” she said. If she were completely honest, she was curious to see how well Iris could handle the temptation. It was… interesting, to see her steal glances at the blood like it would rise up and eat her. “Should I take it away?” Therese kept the smile off her lips as she asked.

“No, no, I’m fine.” Iris took a deep breath near the glass. “Oh, that smells … _heavenly_.” A shaky exhale came, probably a means to keep her primal side under control. “Is your head better? You looked like you were in pain earlier.”

Therese… could admit to being impressed.

Many Kindred still couldn’t hold a civil conversation if a glass of blood was left near them, much less think about someone other than themselves. But Iris cared to ask… and it was kind of cute.

“It’s a lot better.” Therese replied as she raised her glass to her lips for a small sip. She wasn’t bothered by a pair of green eyes following the movement. “So. How did you get so good with economics?” she asked. “It doesn’t fit into your…” A finger was vaguely waved. “Troublemaker profile.” It was more a prod than anything at that point.

Iris channelled her inner Ventrue as she took a taste of blood, only slightly larger than Therese's. “I… used to help manage the resources of the monaster—” she cut herself off. “Sorry, I meant the orphanage.”

The elder leaned a tad forward. “You grew up in one?”

“Yeah…” Iris’ fingers lightly tapped on the base of her glass, her eyes there, but far away. “I never met my real parents. They died at… war.”

“You don’t have to say anything you’re not comfortable with.” the Baron hurried to add.

“It’s alright. My foster parents were sort of the owners of the place. So, I had a family, but I grew up there.” From the way she said it, it probably wasn’t always a loving environment. “I helped around with a lot of stuff, finances included.”

That couldn’t have been easy, though her parents did a good job raising her. Therese thought it but didn’t say it. Society would be better if more people like Iris existed. Instead, it was filled with lechers, shameless women and _trash_. Finding someone reliable and upstanding was as rare as stumbling on something of value in the middle of the road.

The Baron’s phone beeped. Another business meeting. A disappointed huff escaped her lips before she could stop it. Blood tended to loosen Kindred up; and she was in no mood to fall head-first into work again, in the company of idiots instead of Iris. The mere thought of trying to communicate with them was a stress factor.

“Work?” Iris guessed. She nodded. “Can I walk you there? For protection, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Therese repeated, amused.

The two of them soon exited Asylum, making their way left. It wasn’t late enough for stores and shops on the way to be closed, so they did slow their pace to look. Until Iris’ green eyes went wide and all but _glued_ themselves to the window of a bakery. She schooled her expression neutral pretty fast, but not fast enough for Therese not to notice.

“What is so interesting to elicit such a reaction?” she inquired.

“Oh, nothing.” Iris waved it off coolly.

“You nearly burst into the shop.”

“They had bubblegum frozen yogurt on display.” the Ventrue said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And the most normal.

Therese opened her mouth. Closed it. Concealed a chuckle behind a cough. “That makes sense.” she replied, one hundred percent sarcasm. Iris didn’t even act that way when the best blood money could buy was waved under her _nose_.

“Don’t judge me– it was my favorite.” Iris spoke like that was the most important thing about her. “Come on, you had to have had a favorite ice-cream as a kid. Or some sweet that made your whole day.”

“I—” Therese shook her head.

She didn’t want to think back because she was fairly certain she didn’t _have_ any good memory as a kid. Or even as a teenager. She didn’t have any human memory that wasn’t tainted by while walls and meds or…. Or.

She could faintly recall there was a cosy place selling pastries close to her house, but she wasn’t even allowed outside far enough to _get_ to it. Jeanette probably went in her place, anyway, despite the rules firmly set in the house. She sneaked out a lot. But Therese…

Therese had to be good for both of them.

“I don’t really remember.” she lied. “Then again… I think I tried vanilla-cherry once.” In a staggeringly white room. “It was good.”

“I would _insist_ on treating you until we found your favorite.” Iris said.

Therese almost stopped walking when something tugged at her chest. Or was that her stomach? It was weird, like a warm zap, like bringing her hand over a burning candle for the briefest of moments, except on the inside. She wondered if something was wrong with her, because she had no idea what that was. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad if it didn’t feel bad at all, but…

“You can only taste blood.” she spoke up, a few seconds late.

Iris seemed to ponder on it. “…What if it’s ice-cream submerged in blood?” A new Kindred intellectual was born that moment.

“Please don’t.” Therese both cringed and chuckled at the suggestion.

“I will take one for the team and try it. And then I’ll tell you.”

“I don’t want to know.”

Therese swallowed down a huff of disappointment when they arrived at her destination. The road felt too short, though they’d actually taken the long way there. Still, she conducted herself as the Baron that she was and politely bid Iris goodnight.

During the meeting, however, all she could think about was the irony of a stupidly endearing _Ventrue_ actually submerging spoons of bubblegum ice-cream in blood.

…

It was nights later that Therese saw Iris again.

She had been out of town once more, working restlessly on a case assigned to her by Baron Isaac. The idea of the talented neonate under another elder vampire’s sphere of influence did not sit quite right with either Malkavian sister, but there wasn’t much that could be done to change it.

The Ventrue had stepped into Therese’s office to report her return, offering a little wave in greeting. It didn’t take long for the Baron to notice her movements were lacking their usual spark, that her skin was paler and eyes sunken. She looked exhausted, thirsty… and aggravated.

There was a number of things the blonde had been meaning to ask. About the other Baron, about the inner workings of his domain, about the mission. She swiped them all aside in favor of pouring a glass of blood for Iris. Something –a tiny voice, a tiny feeling— stopped her from grilling the fledgling for information, from using her for personal gain, while she wasn’t in top condition.

Therese caught herself asking different things, like how she was faring, if she needed rest. She didn’t like her tone as she asked them, either, softer than she’d sounded in hundreds of years.

When Iris huffed about her dead-end of a case, dropped her head to her forearm miserably, Therese’s fingers curled tighter around a sheet of paper with the urge to reach out and pat her hair.

And that was the moment a cacophony alarms went off inside her mind.

Because that – _wasn’t_ normal for her.

Therese’s body language hardened like fast-setting concrete. Whatever was happening to her, her first instinct was to protect herself from it. Her second, to get rid of its cause.

She was about to open her mouth and claim she had work to do, when the door to her office burst open.

“Baron!” Ares had never worn that startled expression in all the years she’d known him. Distress, bordering on terror. “A hooded man came by and dropped this to my feet.” He held up a black disk with wavering fingers. “When I demanded he turn around he kept walking. More like dragging his feet away. But when I grabbed at his shoulder to force him to stop –his face was that of a _monster_! A—a Tzimisce flesh _abomination_.”

Therese immediately rose from her seat. Iris’ eyes sharpened like a razorblade. “Give me that.” The blonde wasted no time in taking the disk and pushing it into the nearest available CD player.

It took them a while to realize what they were seeing. For their minds to _accept_ it. There were no filters to the gruesome scenes on display; all of it was real –all of it was sickening to the _bone_.

At first, people were trapped in some kind of dungeon, chained, tortured. Their cries and whimpers turned into screams of horror during the last moments of their lives… as the black figure never quite caught on camera flesh-shaped their bodies to his will. The monster Ares had described was born of parts from several Kine.

Iris was frozen in place. Unmoving. Unblinking. Unbreathing.

“Those are… the missing people Isaac sent me to look for…” she breathed. Ares set his jaw and gave her an understanding look. Therese wasn’t sure of _what_ to do, but the video went on…

Then the scenery changed. The people changed.

They were at a clearing in a forest Therese recognized… as it was at the border of her Barony. 

Five men, three women, all of them clad in silvers and whites. All of them bearing the symbol of a cross at their backs, with a sword within it. They were Hunters –and they wouldn’t be alive for long if the shadow at the edge of the camera was the same one starring in the earlier scenes.

A demonic laugh echoed from the hidden Tzimisce. “We know.” Was what he said… and the screen went black.

That was when Therese noticed the aura in the room had changed. A burning she couldn’t explain lingered at the base of her nape and she turned to look at Iris out of instinct.

The Ventrue was _shaking_.

Not in terror… but something else. Something that gave pause even to the Brujah next to her. Therese’s mind swarmed with whispers. She didn’t react in time to grab at Iris before she bolted. In a flat millisecond, the fledgling was opening the window. In the next, she was leaping right out of it.

Ares went to move after her, but Therese stopped him. “Don’t. Notify Tung and whoever you know can _fight_. Send them to the border right _now_.”

It was a lucky thing she’d decided to wear pants that night. Therese took a deep, calming breath as she approached the windowsill –and jumped. The rush of air was a sensation she didn't appreciate nearly as much as Jeanette, but the elder sister hadn’t forgotten how to manoeuvre around as a vampire, even though she didn’t prefer it, nor the blood cost it came hand-in-hand with.

Iris was _fast_ for a fledgling.

Therese caught up to her only at the actual border itself, which was _not_ her plan and _far_ from ideal.

The Baron grabbed at Iris’ arm and forced her into a grinding halt. When she went to push her off, the blonde was faster, shoving her into a tree bark. That sure brought back memories –and they weren’t the good kind. “Do you realize what you’re _doing_!” Therese’s whisper may as well have been a roar. “This is what he _wants_!”

“Get _off_ of me!” To say Iris was livid… would be a massive understatement. That look in her eyes was _dark_. It didn’t fit there. It didn’t fit her.

“Fool! A neonate against a Tzimisce?! You’ll _kill_ yourself!” Therese pressed back _harder_.

“He’ll kill _them_!”

“Of course I will.” A third voice came, deep within the darkness, its mere echo sending ice-cold chills down Therese’s spine.

She was not given the time to steel herself. A growling beast leapt down at them from the thick branches of the tree, two rows of shark-like teeth sinking deep into her shoulder. Therese cried and slapped it off –but it only twisted in the air as though a boneless rag and went right back in.

Iris was there to block it the second time, fingers enhanced by Fortitude gripping its jaws, keeping the creature mid-air. Therese immediately scanned their surroundings with Auspex. There were more of them around. Eight, as far as she could see.

The Ventrue threw the beast off, right back to the Sabbat elder. It remained there, waiting akin to a guard dog, for its master’s next command. Red and black robes came into view, ancient-looking, the kind kings of old and their advisors would wear. The high collar led to a face only a mother could love, crafted into the visage of something distinctly non-human. There were spiked fins at the edges of the Tzimisce’s jaws, moving up to an enlarged, monstrous head. Even his complexion was appalling, a sickly greyish green. 

“I must admit, I did not expect two fishes to be caught in this simple net.” He spoke with a peculiar accent. Whether from modifications to his mouth or not was impossible to tell. “No simple smelts, either. A nuisance… and a Baron, to boot. Oh, tonight will be a masterpiece, I can _feel_ it.”

“You have some nerve coming to threaten me at my own city, Sabbat freak.” Therese said, gaze and voice glacial.

“Where are they?!” Iris demanded. 

“Closer than you think. But let us talk, first.” He motioned with his hand. “My name is Andrei. I know of who you are, Iris. Of who your Sire was and what she’s done. And of you, Therese, though you may not know yourself.” the monster continued. “I must admit, it is curious to see the Baron chase after a fledgling so eager to throw their life away, though this one did not deserve this gift in the first place.”

Therese was not interested in talking to the hideous Kindred before her, but she needed to buy time. The more she stalled, the higher their chances of survival. Because it was clear to her just from looking at the Tzimisce’s aura he was considerably older than her. It would be even _more_ considerable in combat.

“I simply couldn’t resist watching a Tzimisce decorate my Barony with their ashes, tonight.” Therese stated.

“Ha! But there will be no ashes here. My clan is one of culture. Such fine specimens cannot be wasted like that. You two will decorate my ancestral mansion, once I am done crafting you into glorious forms.”

Iris was about to pounce, but Therese wrapped a hand so tightly around her elbow she was _just_ shy of fracturing a bone. For the time being, it was an anchor. Still, she wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her if she had to. It was far preferable to whatever the Tzimisce would do if he got his hands on her. She had to protect Iris from him and from her own _self_.

“Such a tight leash you keep on your neonate, Therese.” The corner of his lip curled, revealing crude teeth underneath. “I sense there is something… interesting, there. Do you know of your pretty possession as I do, I wonder?”

Iris made to move again, but the Baron’s hold was iron. “What brings an elder here is what _I_ wonder.” Therese replied.

“The Camarilla’s speeding us towards doom –and personal interest.” was said.

“Doom. How so?”

“You answer the call of the Ancient to free him from his torpor. He slumbers within the Ankaran Sacrophagus, one of the Fathers whose return shall harken the Reckoning.” He moved. It was the first time he did since coming out of the shadows. Therese slackened her hold on Iris just in case. “But excuse me, I can hardly wait anymore. You two will be mine, just like the Hunters that came before and the ones already furnishing my estate.”

Iris roared.

The ‘mercenary’ abominations rushed them all together.

Therese clawed and smashed and fought but the creatures were shockingly resilient. Yet, in the depths of her mind, there was something about them...

She could catch faint glimpses of... emotions, when they came close. Confusion and terror and an echoing cry in the depths of their cursed existence;

_He…lp u…s._

A whisper, at first.

And then—

_Free us!_

They weren’t roaring. They _screamed_.

…

Therese didn’t know how long they’d been at it for. Slashes and cuts were all over her arms and middle. Iris was looking no better. The creatures were harmed, too, oozing out black blood, though wounds did not slow them down.

“Turn left!” Therese barked and Iris dodged behind a rock just in time to keep her arm yet attached to her body.

The hilt of a Hunter’s weapon had been laying there, in a pool of mud. The Ventrue grabbed it and flashed right back in to protect the Baron’s back from an incoming attack. There was a glint of silver; the dirt and soil flew off the blade as it sliced across the air…

Cutting the creatures in half.

Therese felt, rather than saw, their helpless, sickening writhing on the ground before Iris put them out of their misery. That was the pair's winning tactic; she could break their hardened shell with her superior strength and the silver weapon could finish them off for good.

In the far distance, more Kindred were approaching. _Finally_. Therese thought.

“Blast it all!” Andrei started to retreat.

It was over. They could see another moonrise, another dawn. The war wasn’t over until the Sabbat monster was dead, but it was a won battle. Therese could request reinforcements from the Camarilla to hunt him down. She could—

“You’re not getting away!” Iris went after him.

In her wounded state, the Baron could not stop her. She could not help her. A cold, crippling sensation rushed through the Malkavian. Jeanette screamed somewhere in the depths of her mind. She thought she’d won –and she had. So why would she have to lose in the very same night, the very same moment?

 _Why_ would she have to watch Iris _die_?

Andrei slapped her away like no more than an annoying fly. Therese froze at the crack she could hear during the impact. Iris stood again and tried to slice at him, but the man avoided her blade and struck her middle. She collapsed on her knees like a statue whose armature was _broken_.

“Since you ask for it, you _worm_ …” The Tzimisce placed a hand on her head, chanting something under his breath.

Bertram and Ares got there first, several Nosferatu not too far behind, yet they were too late. Jeanette could not stand to watch, though Therese had no other choice. She could not avert her eyes from Iris’ final moments. She deserved that much.

But then—

The Ventrue looked up under his palm. Their eyes locked.

“ _Burn_.” she spoke, in a voice so absolute it seemed to still even time. 

The Tzimisce looked like was ran through by an electrical current. He pulled his hand back, hissing, then outright _convulsing_. Therese didn’t know what she was seeing –there was no flame present and yet he was somehow _burning_. Charred flecks of his skin broke off. Iris did not let him escape from the unseen fire, grabbing his throat with her free hand until he was forced on his knees.

“Unbelievable.” he croaked as the silver blade pressed to his neck. “But I’ve still won. Do you know how many Hunters you just killed…?”

His head was severed clean off.

Bertram and Ares and everyone around were left staring at the Tzimisce ashes flying up with the wind.

But Therese knew something was off. It was all wrong, too _wrong_ —

The sword fell from Iris’ hand, clattered down against some rocks. Her bloodied hands were brought to her face, shoulders shaking in silent sobs. Drops of vitae drip-dropped onto the grass, turned white from vampire remains.

Of course, Therese had known all along, but there was no easy way of saying it. Iris could not handle it, even before the truth about her past had been revealed to the Baron. She could not handle knowing the creatures they were fighting were the same Hunters shown on that video, trapped in a prison of altered flesh. A nightmare.

Bertram moved closer to the Ventrue, one hand outstretched, as though to check she was okay.

 _“Tell him not to go near her!”_ Jeanette shouted but Therese had lost her voice.

“Iris?” He asked.

Slowly, she rose, deaf to the world. 

“Iris…? Are you okay…?”

“You… fucking _leeches_.” she whispered as she turned, no longer the good-natured, charming Ventrue Therese had come to know. The Beast was out for blood, frenzied, _wild_. Twin rivers of crimson ran down her cheeks like scars.

They moved at the same time, yet Tung was the one left on his knees, clutching at his chest where she’d struck him.

Everyone else prepared to fight.

“Stay back!” Therese pushed forward first.

Iris attacked her without an ounce of hesitation.

The elder was was still strong enough to block her right hook. She caught her left hand before anything else could be attempted. And _fuck_ — did her skin _burn_.

Therese had heard what Hunters’ True Faith felt like, a touch akin to that of the sun, but she hadn’t ever experienced it for herself. She would gladly go another hundred years without the excruciating sensation. 

“Calm down, Iris, it’s me.” she said, their eyes locked, speaking to the Ventrue’s mind rather than just her ears.

Dementation was practically Dominate. She would have never wanted to use it on someone like Iris –who trusted her, who was good and cared and perhaps even a… _friend_ — but there was no way around it.

“You don’t want to hurt anyone here. Stop. Let it go.” she continued. The pressure against her waned. So did the flame.

Therese flashed in and pressed a hand to her forehead.

“ _Sleep_.” 

The neonate collapsed forward in her arms, no longer sizzling fire, instead ice-cold. Therese closed her eyes and breathed, deeply, cradling Iris’ head to her shoulder. She didn’t know what to do next. Everyone had seen what she saw. She didn’t know what state the Ventrue would be in when she woke up.

The only thing she knew for a fact was…

The Prince would call a Blood Hunt on her the second he found out she was a Hunter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Therese cannot just find out in any easy way. An action-heavy chapter to go along with the reveal. The scenes at the beginning and the end show the severe contrast to Iris' character, from how she normally is to how she was conditioned as a Hunter. Her hatred for Kindred was never so extreme, but the pain and disgust she feels --along with everything she's been through rising out of the bottle with force enough to shatter it-- shifts her to an extreme end, where all vampires are enemies in her eyes. Ironically enough, her Beast makes her the perfect Hunter (perfect by their standards; merciless and not discriminating between supernaturals, just mindlessly killing all until the world is clean.)
> 
> Would looove to hear what you guys think!


	14. Leave, Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mention of drugs. If this triggers you, please skip.

**[Jeanette]**

****

_“You knew.”_

Therese spoke in that characteristic, icy way of hers, that never failed to make everything sound like an accusation. Maybe it always was.

Jeanette couldn’t really focus on it at that moment, though. Her eyes and thoughts were firmly fixed on Iris’ unconscious form, on the myriad cuts marring her skin that should have healed by then yet hadn’t. The red lines were all over her arms, carving a crude path up her toned, bare shoulders, curling like vines around her neck. Jeanette knew her back was the worst of all, filled with criss-crossing old scars and open wounds atop them. Her fingers had caught on inch after inch of punished skin as she eased Iris off her bloodied shirt…

Yes, she knew. But she didn’t know enough. She didn’t know _this_.

A voice in her head that had nothing to do with Therese told her she hadn't cared to look closely enough. Then maybe she would have known all of it. The true extent of it.

‘Argent’ was just a pretty word. ‘Hunter’ was just another word, too. The pain etched eternally on Iris’ skin wasn’t. The irony was not lost on Jeanette that for someone who saw as much as she did, sometimes _too_ much, she never noticed the most glaring thing. 

But Iris’ face…

Her face showed none of the pain, new or old. It was serene and calm as a sleeping saint’s. 

Both sisters knew by then that appearance was deceiving. Kind of like theirs; two polar opposites in one pretty, unassuming shell. Iris was a dream that could just as quickly turn into a nightmare. A protector and a killer, an angel and a devil. Light that was dark… dark that was light.

The Malkavians hadn’t been confused when they argued over which was true. When some feared her, when they didn’t want her near Therese and her. They could all see, just different things. Different angles. And sadly, all of them were true.

Jeanette would not soon wipe the images of the previous night from her mind. The way Iris had broken down and _shut_ down. The way her shoulders had trembled in gut-wrenching grief. The scream hidden in her silent sobs. How she’d stilled before she stood.

The _thing_ that rose in her place. 

With the twin streaks of blood running down her eyelids and that cold, hate-filled rasp of a voice… she looked like someone else.

 _‘You… fucking_ leeches _.’_

That was what she’d said. Jeanette couldn’t help but wonder if that was what she saw them as. All of them. If that was what she saw _her_ as. Ugly, filthy parasites that served no purpose in the world. Therese wasn’t quite as honest with herself, but the ivory sister was certain she was wondering, too.

Jeanette sure as hell hadn’t known this.

 _“And?”_ she asked Therese. And what did it matter? What would telling her have changed?

 _“You didn’t think I ought to know who I was letting get close to me?!”_ she barked.

A _tsk_ escaped Jeanette’s lips. _“No worries. You don’t let anyone remotely close enough to really hurt you.”_

 _“Ah, yes. That coming from the one who lets_ everyone _too close. Yet they mean to you as much as they mean to me –_ Nothing _.”_ Therese’s voice boomed like thunder.

 _“That’s not true!”_ Jeanette growled back.

 _“At least I am self-aware enough to admit people are only as important to me as their use in my plans. You? You somehow manage to lie to yourself your foolish little conquests haven’t expired after giving you their full attention.”_ she quipped with that snide tone again…

 _“Is that why you’re like this about Iris, then?”_ Jeanette’s lip curved in an agitated, not-quite smirk. _“Her opinion of you_ that _useful to your plans?”_

Therese took an ominous step forward with a demanding _“What?”_

 _“So, Miss Self-Aware. Will you also admit you’re this torn up over more than just Iris being a Hunter? That you’re scared all her smiles towards you were fake, that you’re afraid all she wanted was put a blade to your throat while you couldn’t stop thinking about her?”_ Jeanette jabbed. _“That it bothers you perhaps all you are to her is another pompous bloodsucker, no different than a slimy, disgusting leech?”_

Therese looked just about ready to murder her.

But she wasn’t done.

_“That you got feelings for her?”_

_“Speak for your goddamn self, Jeanette.”_ Therese adjusted her suit and roughly turned away, leaving her alone in the room with Iris.

“…I am.” Jeanette whispered to no-one.

_…_

It took two entire days and nights for Iris’ wounds to close.

In that time, even a human would have started to heal. It was clear that burning touch didn’t come without a high cost.

On the third evening, hours after the sun had disappeared past the horizon… she opened her eyes. Confused, vibrant green, trying to adjust to their surroundings while blinking the remains of vampire coma away. Jeanette’s body pulled to join her side, but she kept herself firmly rooted on the chair at the Ventrue’s desk.

“Hey, kitten.” she greeted tiredly, voice lacking its usual suggestive enthusiasm while speaking the word.

“What…” Iris groggily began to ask. A few seconds later, her pretty eyes were going wide with horror, a hand flying to her mouth as if to resist the urge to puke. “Did that…” Her fingers, too pale, curled into the sheets. “Did that really happen…?” She didn’t look like a merciless Hunter or a regal Ventrue as she asked, curled into a ball. “Please, tell me it was all a dream…!” Jeanette’s heart gave a painful throb at the sight.

“Hon…” she whispered.

“No, no! Tell me I didn’t kill my friends. That I didn’t hurt Bertram and attack Therese. _Please_ …!” She sounded –broken.

“You didn’t kill those Hunters, you _saved_ them. Bertrie’s a tough cookie, he’s fine. And trust me when I say you should have struck Therese _way_ harder.” In different circumstances, Jeanette would have laughed at the mental image of her sister getting the bitch slap she often deserved. Right there, however, all she managed was a weak smile.

The Ventrue dropped her head to the mattress, crying without tears or sound.

Instinctively, Jeanette moved closer, one hand reaching out to touch her head, to tell her that everything would be alright even if it was a lie–

Iris hissed at her and drew back, like a cornered animal.

“Stay away from me!” she exclaimed, fangs gleaming past her lips. The elder could only mutely sit at the very edge of the bed, wondering how everything could go to shit so quickly. The half meter between them felt like an ocean. Impossible to cross. Impossible to bridge.

They may as well be continents apart.

“None of this was your fault.” Jeanette said quietly. Her hand was left palm-up on the sheets, a peace offering she hoped Iris would take, although she knew otherwise. “That’s how the Tzimisce are; full of mindgames taken straight out of nightmares. You already know they’re some of the worst of us.”

Iris kept her face averted from her, shrouded in shadows. “I’ve killed others, before. It wasn’t like… that.”

“He was an elder. There was no surviving that as a human.” Jeanette stated. As much as it probably hurt to hear, it was the undeniable truth.

The Ventrue’s mind flashed to the deceased Hunters, her own able to follow in its echo. Snapshots of children playing at a monastery yard came to mind. Then, teenagers sneaking out together, smiles on their faces. Jeanette didn’t want to, but she knew their names. And that knowledge burned with the same intensity as Iris’ touch.

“You don’t understand.” Iris whispered. “For Hunters, it’s never about survival. You grow up constantly flirting with death and you’re taught it’s an honor to die fighting for the light. The life expectancy isn’t way past thirty. It doesn’t matter. The fact the best of us struggle to kill the weakest of supernaturals doesn’t matter.” she explained. “But… _this_? Not even being able to really die? _How_ is this allowed…?” Jeanette could practically taste her disgust.

Funny; she used to wonder that same thing from a young age. ‘How is this fair’ and ‘how is this allowed’? Maybe they were the questions Therese didn’t dare ask, herself. Maybe neither of them wanted the answer.

Iris dropped her head onto the knee she hugged to her chest. It was clear she’d need time to overcome the horrors she’d seen. “I don’t think it’s safe for anyone to be around me, right now.” came the admission, voice small, unsteady. “I’m not doing so well.” Fingernails dug into the skin of her wrist. “I’m sorry for everything. Please… _leave_.”

And if one word could pierce like an arrow through the stomach…

That single ‘leave’ would be it.

…

Lips dyed crimson from more than just dark lipstick extracted from the man’s pale neck.

Jeanette knew she had drawn a lot. The guy wobbled on his feet after her arms fell from around him, but he would be fine. Minus the dizziness and the really bad hangover, which would pass given a day or two.

Or three, judging from the other substances swimming around in his system.

The Malkavian could feel the kick of the drugs almost immediately. She licked her lips and rolled her neck far back as the world’s sharpness faded away into a soothing blur. Aurora lights swam at the corners of her vision where the harsh neons of the Asylum used to be. The uncomfortable clenching within her chest –or was that her stomach?— ever since that night when Iris asked her to _leave_ , in _that_ tone, finally started to ease. The name itself almost didn’t ring a bell.

_Aaaaalmost._

Vampiric constitution would make sure the effects of the drugs didn’t last long, but Jeanette would make the most of what she could. Time was a relative thing, after all. It was long enough if it felt long enough. If the price of absolute freedom, from doubts, from unwanted thoughts, was seeing bubbles of color everywhere –some filled with secrets, some with fantasies, all accompanied by whispers— and a headache she’d let Therese deal with later, she should definitely drink from _those_ types of kine more often.

Speaking of kine, a group of three was looking at her funny. Or, to be entirely accurate, the things they were picturing were funny for _her_. Funny because one of them thought he was such a badass he could fuck any woman he fancied, her consent irrelevant, but he was already dumped like a piece of garbage by his parents as a kid and his girlfriend as an adult. Because the second actually believed he could get his hands on Jeanette with his face looking like that, while he sported no more than a baby shrimp between his legs. And because the third would be getting a stroke soon.

Jeanette giggled as she told them that.

“Now, now. Those bad, bad fantasies of yours won’t make up for the feeling mommy leaving.” she slurred. “You’re delusional.” A slim, playful finger pointed at the second. “And youuu need to pass by a hospital before you pass by a different set of gates, ya know what I mean?”

They gave each other weird looks before they began to advance towards her.

A hand shot out of the same alley she’d just exited, pulling her back in. The growl that followed, accompanied by the menacing shadow behind her, made the men rethink and ultimately cancel their approach.

“Scaredy cats.” she breathed, which morphed into another laugh as she turned around to greet Bertie. And –uh-oh. Red eyes flashed at her. She knew that look. “Don’t staaaaart.” she pleaded.

“What are you _doing_ , Jeanette?” He shook her a little, as if that would clear her haze faster. Other than making more lights and abstract shapes pop into her vision, though, it didn’t do much.

“Practicing my gift?” she answered with a question. “See I can see all sorts o’ shit, _except_ for when it matters.” That was kinda funny too.

Bertram’s fingers dug into her shoulders, just a tad. “Jeanette, pull it together. …Is this about Iris?”

Iris.

_Iris…?_

Who _cared_ about a fledgling who was so freaking beautiful for a world so ugly, who shined silver in the dark like a saint, like a blade, who would get herself killed the way she insisted on barrelling into harm’s way? Who Jeanette had come to miss, on –more than one— occasion, because her nights seemed a little dull and a little bland without her pretty smile to hue them? Who even cared about someone so compassionate and brave and sweet and—

_“Fucking leeches.”_

And a sworn vampire killer.

“Ha ha! Nope!” She rapidly shook her finger at Bertie. Then paused. Then took a shaky breath. “Mostly it’s about _me_. And about how I jus—I jus want this _weight_ to go away, yeah? It feels like somethin’s groping my chest and not in a good way. Like— like squeezing my heart.”

“So, it _is_ about Iris.” his tone was flat. Deadpan.

Her expression twisted into a deep scowl. “Why would you _mention_ her?” The pressure at her middle returned. Perhaps it never really left in the first place. “The whole point o’ this was to forget her for a while.”

“Yeah, well it doesn’t seem to be working great.” Bertram commented.

“Oh, it’s working _great_.” Jeanette argued, emphasizing the word. “I can’t tell which direction is right n’ left, let alone what I _feel_ for her.” And boy, did she feel for her. More giggles slipped past her lips.

Maybe this was what daddy meant when he said she wasn’t allowed to see other people for her own good. Because they were bad and nobody out there loved her like he did and caring for any of them would only _hurt_ her in the end. The old fart was a manipulative liar, of course and Jeanette had never taken a word he said to heart, unlike Therese...

But. There turned out to be a tiny sliver of truth to some of his bullshit. 

Feelings fucking sucked.

She couldn’t do any of the shit she normally did without a bad aftertaste that it wasn’t what she wanted, she couldn’t do what and who she wanted because they didn’t want her back. And she couldn’t blame them –she was a mess. But a good-looking mess, at least…?

“Jeanette…” Bertie’s huff brought her back to reality.

“I’m attractive, right?” she asked out of the blue.

“Where is this coming from?”

“Yes or no?”

“Look. Let’s… just make sure you get to your room without doing anything stupid—”

“No, _you_ look.” Jeanette jabbed him in the chest. “All these kine want me. All the Kindred want me, _you_ want me. But she _doesn’t_. How messed up is it?”

The same fucked up pattern that she’d been cursed with in life had followed her in death. She could never have the things she desired most. They were right there, always frustratingly _just_ out of reach. Happiness. Freedom. Iris. _Iris_.

And it just hit her so _strongly_ that moment that—

She could have almost everything, but she wasn’t happy.

She had long since escaped, but she was _still_ in Asylum.

She was surrounded by people, but she felt alone and hollow, _still_ in a room that was either too dark or too bright. The only one who had made the sensation go away… was her. The friend she was never allowed to have, who never judged her, who never looked at her like she was mad, who would defend and support her even when she didn’t deserve it. So what if it was selfish to want more?

To know what that thing described in books and movies was. That happy ending where two figures blended together before the sunset and everything was set _right_. 

Iris was the sun, in more ways than one. But Jeanette couldn’t see her face anymore. Only her retreating back, as she drew further and further away…

“Do you know how it fkin’ is to fall for someone who doesn’t feel the same…?” The past half-hour’s giggles summed up to a single sob.

Bertram gazed down at her with saddened eyes. His reply was a solemn: “I do.”

…

_“Don’t switch. Trust me, right now you don’t want to.”_

She didn’t know what possessed her to say it. More like exhaustingly grumble it to her other half. It was Therese’s night to take over, as per their agreement and Jeanette had, until that very second, been more than eager to let the stiff twin handle the aftermath of the previous night’s admittedly questionable feeding choices.

That had been the whole _point_. She got to have the fun, Therese could –like always— deal with the nausea, soreness, hangover and all the other unpleasant shit. She sure deserved it, too. But…

But Jeanette couldn’t tell what the hell stopped her from doing her usual thing.

 _“Jeanette...”_ Therese hissed it out in a clear warning. _“What did you_ do _…?”_

 _“Stop picturing the worst –ew. I just had a biiiiiit of a spiced drink and I can’t_ stand _to hear you bitching about it all night, alright?_ ” she huffed. It was only half a lie. She could, of course, just retreat to a far little corner of their mind and not hear Therese at all, but there was that unnamed sensation again, cutting up that option like a razorblade.

_What is this shit, now…?_

Therese opened her mouth. Closed it. _“…that’s never stopped you before.”_ And didn’t she know it. Jeanette thought it but didn’t say it, instead opting for waving a hand as if to dismiss her sister’s piercing glare. Still, the Baron felt the need to continue. _“From loading the consequences of your decisions onto others.”_

It wasn’t something she’d never said before. Jeanette never did pay it any mind, though, until then.

It was— true. For the most part. It was like eighty-five percent true. Maybe more?

Then again… well. Perhaps Therese wouldn’t be left to deal with –suffer through— her purposefully shitty choices if she wasn’t such a massive bitch all the time.

To her surprise… the Baron let out a huff. One that didn’t sound half as cold as her usual ones, or as disappointed. She walked past Jeanette, to the dark recesses of their shared space. _“It’s strange to see you take responsibility, yet not unwelcome.”_ Was that a smile at the edges of her lips, or were Jeanette’s eyes playing tricks on her even within their mind? _“Go on, then. The stage is yours. Just make sure to check my computer for any pressing business.”_ Therese motioned, moving further, to their subconscious.

Jeanette blinked her eyes open in her plush bed, cursing inwardly when the entire room spun. Even the absolute darkness around her seemed somehow too _bright_. Whatever heavy stuff that guy had taken last night weren’t being kind to her no more.

_This whole taking responsibility business…? Yeah, I can see why I don’t do it often._

She had to drag her body to the shower. Luckily, the water soothed away some of the hangover. Jeanette hoped what was left wasn’t anything a healthy snack wouldn’t soon fix.

But, first, Therese’s computer. She had to get the boring stuff out of the way quickly. The ivory sister made her way to the office and tried to recall the base password. It didn’t unlock everything, but she was in no mood to snoop, anyway.

Several emails popped into the screen.

Jeanette let out a loud groan. There was no _way_ she was reading all that. Tiredly, she let her body fall back, into Therese’s fancy black chair. It felt wrong to be there, though and she found it wasn’t as easy for her to let it take her weight as it was for the Baron.

 _Status update on the Ocean Hotel… spies’ reports on Sabbat activity at the border, yadda yadda…_ Then her eye caught on the bold letters with LaCroix’s name on them. That was one message Jeanette couldn’t skip through.

She just hadn’t been prepared for what she’d read.

The initial part was all formalities. The Prince was commending the Baron for solving the Tzimizce issue as efficiently as she had. He was even going as far as to emphasize his admiration for her being the one to take down the Sabbat elder.

Jeanette couldn’t ignore the sour taste that left. It was entirely false; a lie which took credit from someone deserving and sprinkled it like a pretty glow over Therese’s image. She could easily blame her sister for being a heartless bitch, for taking advantage of Iris’ pain to gain from the situation… but she knew it was the only way to protect her. Deep down, she knew Therese disliked it about as much as she did. 

Each sentence after that got worse.

LaCroix was aware that Iris had fought at her side yet was asking her not to spread the word any further than was strictly necessary. _‘We cannot have the Camarilla world looking up to an unauthorized fledgling as some sort of hero. I am certain you understand.’_ was his justification.

Then he was going on about they could both gain from this turn of events. He would put in a good word for Therese to the Ventrue… and in turn she should allow him absolute control over the fledgling.

 _‘I will make use of her newfound combat experience to exterminate our problems, two birds with one stone.’_ Jeanette read.

Dual-colored eyes went wide at the mention of a task involving the infiltration of a Giovanni mansion. The Malkavian checked the date of the email… and realized two nights had passed since LaCroix had sent it.

She sprang up.

 _“Therese!”_ she exclaimed in her head.

If they allowed Iris to leave for that mission, neither of them would be seeing her again.

…

Jeanette zoomed out of Asylum in a flash of white.

Heterochrome eyes searched around, endlessly relieved to see Iris just then opening the door to the nearest cab. The elder had crossed the road before the engine roared to life.

The Ventrue saw her from the rear-view mirror, though pretended she hadn’t. “To downtown. Fast.” was said to the driver.

Jeanette grabbed at the passenger’s door before he could comply. A pair of green orbs peered strangely at her, an intense mix of surprised and confused. “Get out, kitten, we need to talk.” there was an edge to her tone that reminded her of Therese’s, but whatever, she mused, as long as it got the job done.

Iris stubbornly held the door closed from the other end. “Let go. I’m busy.”

“Ain’t happening.”

The Ventrue raised an eyebrow. She seemed sceptical, yet didn’t comply. “Can’t this wait?”

 _You won’t be alive long enough for that, honey._ “‘Fraid not.”

“Look.” Iris cast an uncomfortable glance towards the cab guy, coolly observing them underneath his pitch-black sunglasses. If Jeanette was in a better mood, she’d comment how that technically broadcasted ‘vampire here’ to a half-kilometer radius. “I don’t… really want to talk right now.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Her free hand slammed onto the upper part of the door, fingers curling in, bending the metal the slightest amount. “ _Don’t_ make me say it again!” Whether it was her or Therese or both of them, Jeanette didn’t much care to know. Judging from the way Iris tensed, it got the point across.

“Hey!” the cabbie intervened, his voice somehow sending chills down Jeanette’s spine. He pushed the Ventrue out. “Take your lover’s quarrel away from the car, dolls.”

Iris gave him an exasperated look, but Jeanette’s hand had already wrapped around her wrist and was pulling her away.

“What was that _for_?” Iris demanded in a decidedly Hunter-y way –that would, in any other time, have been incredibly fucking hot.

“Don’t growl at me, duckling, it’s only cute when I’m in good spirits.” She held up a finger between them. “The Prince wants you dead and although you already know this, I’m not convinced you have taken it to heart as much as you _should_.” she spoke. “If you leave now, your next mission is going to be the end of you. I don’t need a fuckton of insight to guarantee as much.”

Iris paused. Then the scowl returned, full-force. “What’s he gonna ask, this time? That I bathe in gasoline and then press a lit match to my skin?”

“Wouldn’t you make a pretty firework. But, no –it’s less sparkly and more bloody, how I see it.” Jeanette replied. “He’s sending you to get that thing he’s obsessed with, from a _Giovanni_ mansion.”

Iris’ expression shifted in miniscule ways, several times. From surprise, to anger, to disgust, to a stoic coldness that soon broke into what Jeanette was mortified to discover was _eagerness_.

_This girl may just be crazier than I am._

The whispers even agreed.

“Good.” she breathed. “I’ll never turn down the chance to kill more Sabbat.”

Jeanette’s hand, still wrapped around her wrist, gave an almost painful tug. “Get real.”

“I _am_.” Their eyes locked. Therese was not above just plain using Dementia to plant in her head that she shouldn’t go. Jeanette wasn’t as ready for the end to justify the means.

“No. Ever since that night you haven’t been yourself.” was stated firmly. “You’re hurting, you’re grieving and you’re torturing yourself over what could have been done differently, just like you _always_ did.” Iris’ eyes betrayed her guilt when they averted from hers. Jeanette was seeing a tragic, cruel story on replay and she didn’t want it to continue any more. “But we need you to snap out of your fucking Hunter mindset right now and realize your death won’t serve any honorable cause other than make the jester Prince happy.”

The Ventrue was still resisting, still trying to pull away.

But their hold was iron. And just like Iris had once put her own life in harm’s way to save theirs…

They needed to return the favor.

“You didn’t want this life and I _get_ that. It goes against everything you ever believed. But maybe the Hunters weren’t right about everything, have you considered this tidbit? You already were more open-minded than the lot of them, you couldn’t get behind their extremes, isn’t that why you _left_?” Jeanette started to see more and more.

Iris’ lips parted, soundless.

“So, maybe, it’s not so much a curse as it is a second chance. Or maybe it’s both. Either way, I won’t let you throw it away.”

“I…”

“And since you’re still so concerned about your faith, if you believe God lets things down here happen for a reason, why would you _not_ believe He has a reason to let you become one of us?”

Iris froze. A new vulnerability softened her green eyes as her hand went limp in Jeanette’s grip. She looked like she wanted to cry but had forgotten how, so instead opted for lowering her head, wavy black hair casting shadows on her beautiful face, in a sight downright heartbreaking.

“Please, duckling. Take the hunt down a notch, at least for now.” Jeanette’s voice dropped to a whisper, their faces close. “Bringing a few Sabbat down and dying in the process isn’t why you’re here.” Even if she would have liked that to be the case.

Iris shut her eyes tightly.

Almost as if her head was too heavy to support, she lowered it onto Jeanette’s neck. The Malkavian turned a little into her hair and finally let go of her wrist, knowing she would not be going anywhere anytime soon. What could have been seconds, minutes, or hours later, Jeanette took her hand and guided her to her motel room.

Once the tension was allowed to slip from her shoulders, the Ventrue looked plain _exhausted_. She shrugged off her jacket and slid into bed in a motion that still somehow looked criminally graceful. Just as the elder was going to throw her a wink and wave goodnight, however…

“Jeanette.” Iris’ voice stopped her retreat. “Will you come here…?”

It wasn’t as if there was a single parallel universe out there where she was strong enough to say no. Jeanette crawled right beside the source of her late trouble, as close as she dared, just shy of touching. Her pigtails were getting in the way of laying properly, so she shook her hair loose.

Iris inched closer.

Closer, until an arm was wrapped around her waist and a head was nestled on the crook of her neck.

Jeanette curled into the embrace like someone who had been deprived of it all her life.

“Please, stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took a while to get the way I wanted, so I hope it delivered :). Even if I'm gone for a bit longer than usual, rest assured I'm never abandoning fics.
> 
> Both Jeanette and Therese speak to Iris at the end, taking over at different parts of the conversation, though it seems like Jeanette is the 'active' sister. I wanted them both present to deliver the wakeup call our dear Ventrue needed, because even the best of the best sometimes need a good slap to the face with words, to snap out of a certain state (aka self-hate, self-blame). There were a lot of things about her life as a vampire Iris failed to see -and be grateful for- so I think there is no one better to open her eyes to a different perspective. 
> 
> It's kinda cute how these two constantly save each other --and our all-seeing cab guy *cough* Cain *cough* secretly ships. ;)
> 
> And since I'm super curious, tell me whose POV you like best. Therese's, Jeanette's or Iris'?


	15. Nightmares and Dreams

**[Therese]**

Two weeks.

That was the maximum amount of time she had managed to buy Iris after an incredibly tedious negotiation with the Prince. It wasn’t anywhere close to enough, considering the mission awaiting her at the end of it, yet it was better than the sole alternative of having none.

The Ventrue would have to make the most of what she had. To _prepare_.

But first she had to answer her goddamned phone.

Therese let out an exasperated sigh at yet another unanswered call being forwarded to _‘please leave a message after the tone’._ As her expensive cell slid from between her fingers to the polished mahogany of her desk, she wondered why she even bothered. A subtle nagging in her chest argued that the answer already existed, hidden within her subconscious like a state secret. She expertly ignored it.

It was understandable if Iris needed time. Time to herself, time off of everything. Sadly, it was a luxury she couldn’t afford to have, as cruel as that sounded. Therese wouldn’t have pushed, otherwise.

She wouldn’t, if not for the glaring little fact that the Ventrue seemed to have no problem at all talking to Jeanette, on and off the phone, while she actively avoided _her_.

Jeanette didn’t shy away from pointing it out, either, using it as armor-piercing ammunition against Therese that _shouldn’t_ have worked nearly as effectively as it did.

The Baron tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair as she considered her options. She could stay in her office, restless and ignored… or she could do something drastic. Grey eyes shifted to the window on the opposite side of the room, the one with an unobscured view of Surfside Diner.

 _No way_. She thought, at first. There was a ton of work to be done and she wasn’t interested in spending more time than necessary surrounded by curious Kine.

One unproductive hour later, she had warmed enough to the idea to rise from her office with an aggravated exhale.

Therese’s heels clicked with purpose against the asphalt as she crossed to the other side of the road, all the way to the entrance of the quaint little shop a certain Ventrue frequented. Steeling her nerves for only a second, she pushed the glass door open.

Several sets of gazes glued to her person. The woman at the counter paused; she seemed to recognize her. Therese spared a tiny nod before her narrowed gaze zeroed in on her target—

A pair of grass-green eyes had snapped to her from the back booths, the book they’d been previously engrossed in utterly forgotten. The blonde kept the smirk to herself when Iris’ expression turned to shock, more apparent with every step diminishing the distance between them.

In one graceful move, Therese slid into the seat adjacent to hers, her face a mask of cool neutrality –some might have said stoniness and they wouldn’t be wrong. The initial discomfort of standing out like a sore thumb in the casual shop was worth it for every second the Ventrue continued looking like a fish out of water.

Then she snapped out of it, lowering her voice to a faint, strained whisper, though there was no way the few mortals scattered around the diner would have heard them, regardless. 

“ _Therese_.” Well, at least Iris seemed more uncomfortable than she felt. Good. “What are you _doing_ here?” her tone was downright _mortified_.

The Baron thanked a century’s training on keeping up her poker face and resisted the urge to chuckle. “Visiting the shop. You?” she feigned nonchalance.

“Why?” Was it her imagination or was Iris turning away from the counter as subtly as she could…?

“You’d know if you answered your phone, now, wouldn’t you.” she stated, eyes burning holes through the Ventrue’s.

“It’s dead.” Iris had the decency to look sorry.

“Hm. Much like most individuals ignoring my calls.” Her fingernails drummed against the table. Iris opened her mouth but didn’t seem to find anything to say.

“Look –I’m sorry, but you can’t _be_ here.” she said, leaning a tad forward. She’d look very serious if not for the catalogue held up like a shield on the side of their table, obscuring the cashier’s view of them.

“And why not?”

“Because you’re feeding into the rumors…” was breathed out, almost in a whine, green eyes looking everywhere but her own.

The middle-aged woman from the counter, possibly the shop owner, took that moment to approach with a wide smile, like she knew a juicy bit of information Therese and Iris weren’t quite privy to. And the elder could be wrong, but she instinctively knew the Ventrue cared about her opinion. A lot.

“Hello, what can I get you?” Grace asked, gazing from one vampire to the other with a strange fondness in her eyes, like a proud mother. The Malkavian wouldn’t know, for she never met her own.

“I’ll have what she’s having.” Therese replied, all while trying to understand what could possibly be making her company so shy. The last time Iris had looked like _that_ –ready to _die_ of embarrassment— had been after the gala, when they’d pretended to be a couple—

Oh.

…Was that it?

Therese could work with that. She wasn’t above a good, old-fashioned payback. 

Less than five minutes later, a black coffee was landing in front of her, surrounded by several heart-shaped cookies. “Here you go. Enjoying your date, ladies?”

Iris brought a hand to the side of her face. Therese pressed her tongue to the inside of a fang, as straight-faced as possible when she answered with a simple: “I know _I_ am.” She was taking far too much guilty pleasure watching the Ventrue squirm in her seat.

“That will be all, _thank_ you Grace.” Iris said through gritted teeth. When the woman was gone, green eyes turned back to hers. “Okay, lesson learned. I really am sorry.”

“Then we need to talk business or you’ll soon be as dead as your phone.” Therese didn’t mince her words. “I managed to keep you here for another two weeks. It’s hardly enough time, but you can train your gift and the Nosferatu will acquire gear to give you an edge.”

“Thank you. You… really didn’t have to.” Iris’ gaze flitted to the side.

_I do._

“Giovanni are the youngest clan of the Sabbat, but they are no small fries, Iris. They have access to Oblivion and that alone isn’t good.” she said.

“I know. I hunted down one for weeks. Fought just about every dead animal in that damn forest before I got to him.” Iris spoke. It was a tad jarring for the Baron to hear a Kindred speak of hunting their own kind like it was their norm. But that _was_ Iris’ life and she had to accept that.

“Lucky for you, then. Their elders reanimate more than just dead animals.” Therese’s comment brough a scowl across Iris’ pretty face. “This mission would be a lost cause if not for your True Faith. It’s the ace up your sleeve and you should use it like one. Do you have adequate control over it?”

A sad huff. Iris refused to take her eyes off a spot on the table. “More like none whatsoever.”

Therese had been hoping that wasn’t the answer she’d get. “This is bad.”

“I can kill them without it.”

“I’m not sure that you can. One or two yes, maybe, but you’ll be infiltrating their _home_.”

Silence. At least she didn’t try to lie or insist.

“You need to _train_ it.” Therese pressed.

“And who would I train it _on_?” Iris’ fingers curled into the surface of the table, close to the Baron’s own. “I… don’t want to.”

“Iris—”

“I burned you, too, didn’t I?” she asked, hand unfurling to lightly press against the blonde’s suit sleeve, a vanishing phantom over the area by her wrist left marked, nights ago. Therese didn’t know how that suggestion of a touch, that wasn’t even on her skin, could tingle all the way up her arm.

“I tried to get you killed, so call it being even.” she didn’t trust her voice being any higher than a whisper.

A heartbreaking smile tugged at the Ventrue’s balm-shiny lips. “That’s not how it works.”

“It’s fine, Iris.”

‘Don’t beat yourself up over it anymore’, Therese wanted to say. ‘I’m healed, I’m fine and I’m glad you’re well and that’s all that matters’. She couldn’t bring the words past her mouth… ‘I don’t like seeing that expression on your face’.

“It’s not fine.” Pale knuckles caressed the very edge of the blonde’s black sleeve, just barely brushing over her wrist. Almost reverent, almost asking the healed flesh to forgive her.

Therese’s breath caught in her throat.

“I promise, I’m never going to hurt you again.” And with that, her hand was pulled back to her side, a wall coming up between them.

If it meant Iris was never going to touch her again to avoid the possibility of burning her…

Therese wasn’t sure she’d like that. 

…

Kindred did not often dream.

The comatose state they fell into during the hours the sun was up didn’t allow for much brain activity. However, every now and then, during those minutes after sunset where consciousness slowly started to bleed back from oblivion… there were images. Glimpses.

Sensations. 

In those rare occasions, Therese was haunted by the ghost of a life long left behind. Repressed feelings of claustrophobia rose back up to choke her as her spacious bedchamber suddenly seemed too small to even fit her. Her hands felt tied in place; even the weight of the sheets too much, too closely resembling a straightjacket. And there were times, at the pinnacle of it all, where the bed would dip with an unwelcome weight behind her –a chilling breath by her ear caused her whole being to lock up, painfully tight, like a pressed spring— and heavy hands would come onto her skin.

Those were the worst of it.

That night, it started the same. Therese instinctively knew what to expect, but she was powerless to stop it.

_The walls and the ceiling closed in. Dark, too dark. She couldn’t move her arms as the bed dipped. Panic and nausea swelled like blood from an open wound. And then—_

_Soft hands closed around her wrists, gently prying them from her sides. “Hey, Therese, relax.” A familiar, concerned voice made her open her eyes to meet seas of green. “It’s me.” she said, lithe form settled on top of Therese without pinning her onto the mattress._

_“…Iris?” she breathed, almost in relief._

_Pale fingers caressed over her palms, then gradually moved up her forearm, to her bicep, her neck. The blonde did not remember using the Blush of Life, but her body flushed regardless, her pulse kicking against Iris’ hand. She wasn’t cold anymore. The size of the room didn’t matter._

_Then, satiny lips slid over her own and nothing mattered._

_Iris kissed her with the same care she normally treated her, until the Baron thawed out to a lukewarm, liquid pool. It was all confusing; her brain wasn’t working properly yet for once it didn’t seem like a bad thing. Especially when that same mouth broke from hers to trail the line of her jaw all the way to her jugular. Her back involuntarily arched._

_It felt—really good._

_“Okay?” The whisper sent shivers throughout Therese. She could only nod._

_Iris’ lips latched onto her skin and sucked. A broken moan tumbled past the blonde’s throat. Her nails dug into the Ventrue’s clothed shoulders, pulling her closer. More kisses came, then the hot tease of a tongue at a particularly sensitive spot. Therese found that she needed –something. Her thighs tightened around the leg between them._

_Iris shifted a little, slotting more firmly against her. It should have been too much physical contact, but as it turned out, it wasn’t enough. The fingers at her neck drifted down, catching over a hardened peak on their way lower. Therese couldn’t keep back another breathless sound as they settled on the inside of her bare thigh. Her hips twitched in response._

_“Iris I—” she wanted to ask for something, not even fully knowing what, but couldn’t form any coherent sentence._

_“Shh.” Iris hushed by her ear and_ bit _her._

_“Ah!” The elder gasped, torn in pleasure rather than pain as she mindlessly clawed the Ventrue deeper into her._

_Another slight shift… and fingers trailed over her soaked panties. Frustratingly, they didn’t move, leaving her to chase that shuddering sensation on her own._

_“Bite me harder—” she commanded and pleaded at the same time, rubbing herself over Iris’ hand._

_“Do you want to wake up?”_

_“No, no, don’t stop—”_

_But everything went bleached and unfocused._

_The room started fading away…_

Blue eyes snapped open.

Therese’s mind didn’t take more than a second to catch up to reality. Thankfully, her body was not Blushing and that saved her dignity somewhat from having her underwear stick to her center, but the phantom gnawing at her gut had carried over from the dream.

The Baron immediately rose to a sitting position, fisting the sheets in a death grip. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed to find her bedroom and the rest of her apartment empty when she quickly scanned it with Auspex.

A palm was brought over her face.

“Damn it all…”

…

Nothing was the matter. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

Therese told herself that over and over, until she almost believed it. Otherwise, there was no conceivable way she would be able to keep from fidgeting as she sat across from Iris at her desk, discussing the progress she’d made on her gift during the past week.

The Ventrue, for her part, had been patrolling the Barony’s borders non-stop. Rather than being the ‘police’ to notify Therese of Sabbat problems, however, she was the army that took care of them. What better way, after all, to practice her fiery touch than on the very beings she wanted to burn to ashes?

“It didn’t work at all, at first. I still cannot say I trigger it entirely at will.” The Ventrue explained. “I just…” Green eyes shifted, downcast. “I can only do it when I’m stressed and cornered. And only when I recall that night…”

So, it was a defence mechanism.

But if she were to survive infiltrating a Giovanni clan, she needed more than a shield. Iris needed a _sword_.

Gradually, conversation drifted to less loaded subjects, scarce over more financial management that the Ventrue offered to help with. At first, the Baron thought it would be a good idea, as it would keep her mind strictly on business. But. An hour later, it turned out that wasn’t exactly the case.

Therese loathed that she had to avoid staring at Iris’ face –and the defined lines of her shoulders under her shirt— too long as she spoke. Then again, it was normal to look at someone when they were talking, even to think that someone was strikingly beautiful when that was a fact. She wasn’t committing a crime to her own self doing it, but it still felt _wrong_. A forbidden type of wrong.

And had her voice always been that quietly, soothingly husky?

Therese snapped her pen between her fingers for thinking it.

Green eyes –really, how were they so green, that shouldn’t be possible— looked up in question. A question the Baron refused to answer as she quickly tossed the ruined pen to the wastebasket, before the ink could spill all over her desk and fingers. _Thank God for vampiric speed._

“Is that your way of saying I just bored you to death?” Iris joked, a darling chuckle slipping past her lips.

Therese replied in an icy tone directed more at herself than her company. Really, this whole thing, whatever it was, was preposterous. And annoying. And borderline inappropriate. “No, my way of saying that is by _saying_ it.” 

“…are you okay, though?”

The _“okay?”_ from her dream broke past every door she’d locked it behind to echo straight in her ears. She dropped the second pen before she could snap that one in half, as well.

“I am. Just need to turn in early, I think.” At least it wasn’t a lie that she _was_ tired. Fighting Jeanette’s stupidity, the ever-present whispers trying to pry into her privacy and her own self on top of that didn’t leave much energy on her reserves.

“Can I… walk you home?” Iris drew the ‘n’ a little bit and it fried Therese’s already-stressed mind enough that she couldn’t really reply with anything other than:

“Yes.”

That was how they ended up walking side by side through the empty streets of Santa Monica at four in the morning. The air was crisp with the early chill; smelled like the earth after rain and burning wood from the chimney of one of the nearby houses. The sweet scent of flowers overtook the rest as the pair passed through a park on the way to Therese’s house.

A rustling from the bushes off to their side had both Kindred standing at the ready. Therese was the first to let out a breath and loosen her muscles, seeing before Iris what their stalker really was…

A white puppy hesitantly stepped out of the shadows, under the glow of the lantern-shaped streetlamp. 

The Ventrue paused. The warrior’s posture was dropped in a heartbeat, in favor of a dazzling smile. How she could so seamlessly switch between the two extremes, Therese would never know. One second there was a vampire killer in her eyes, the next a girl that could hardly contain her fondness towards the small animal.

“Don’t get any closer. Animals can sense us.” Therese warned, just so she wouldn’t get her heart broken when the dog started growing defensive, hissing and barking at her.

“…What?” Iris gasped like that was the most offensive thing she’d heard in the months after her Embrace.

“Yes. Look.” Therese took half a step towards the puppy. It immediately arched its back and bared its teeth.

“Oh, no…” she breathed. The Baron moved away so as to not aggravate the animal further.

The blonde was about to continue on her way, when she caught Iris moving, out of the corner of her eye. The former Hunter dared inch closer to the dog. And closer… but it didn’t growl or bark at her. _What the…_

“Hey, little guy. You got nothing to fear from me, yes?” she talked, as if the furball would understand. Even if, oddly enough, it seemed to do just that. “Aw, you so cute. I’ll bring something to feed you tomorrow, I promise.” Too close, the puppy tensed, but didn’t run away. “Don’t mind my friend, over here, she’s nicer than she lets on.”

Several things brought Therese’s brain to a stuttering halt.

The happy little ‘woof!’ the dog gave, as though in agreement, before it turned and strutted right back to his leafy bed to sleep. The word ‘friend’ that so easily rolled off of Iris’ tongue. ‘She’s nicer than she lets on’, she said. Therese didn’t think there was a single nice thing about her. She hadn’t ever wanted there to be one.

She was quiet, lost in thought, for the rest of the way.

Iris was the one to break the silence when she came to a stop at their destination. “You said you live in an apartment, not a penthouse!”

“A penthouse _is_ an apartment, technically.” Therese’s mouth tugged into a tiny smirk. She had been living in luxury long enough that such things didn’t excite her anymore, but it was cute to think the whole ‘wealthy Kindred lifestyle’ –at least for those that pursued it— was a brand new world for Iris.

Garnet eyes rolled.

Then, they focused on Therese, a quiet sort of searching.

The blonde stared back. Watched, as Iris slowly lifted her hand –always thoughtfully keeping it in the forefront of the elder’s vision— and reached towards her face. Therese realized just the simple intent of touching her had rendered her completely paralyzed. She was just left there, waiting –anxiously, eagerly— for the contact. Entirely powerless. And entirely…

Safe.

But a neonate could not be allowed to have so much sway over her. She was already going out of her way to do things for Iris she wouldn’t do for anyone else. She’d already begrudgingly accepted she cared about her wellbeing. But any further than that…

Was danger. 

Therese used her superior speed to swat her fingers away. _There. A clean cut._

“Ow!” Iris waved her hand in the air as if to get rid of the sting. “You have a leaf caught in your hair, Jesus…”

The Baron shook the intruder from the golden locks free of her bun, at the right side of her face. Indeed, a tiny leaf floated to the pavement in a soft zig-zag. Both Kindred observed it, before holding the other’s gaze once more.

“My hand still hurts.” Iris stated.

“You’ve lived through worse.” Therese replied, flat.

The corner of that attractive mouth curved up, just a hint. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“Stronger, yes. Nicer, no.”

“I don’t know. You look pretty nice when you’re not glaring people to death.” No sooner had Iris said it, than she paused.

The double-meaning of her words dawned on her –like it dawned on Therese, who was grateful for the lack of blood circulation in that moment— and she lost her previously confident smirk.

“I mean— as a person. Personality-wise. Not that –that you’re not, you know, nice-looking. Because you are. _Very_. But that’s not… what I meant.” An awkward little laugh. “Well, goodmorning.”

She really _was_ fast for a fledgling.

…

The two weeks were up.

Therese and Jeanette had each taken their time to deal with the growing dread of the upcoming mission, but it wasn’t something that could be avoided. All they could do was believe in Iris’ Hunter experience and the gift bestowed upon her to keep her alive.

Inside the weapon shop of the Nosferatu Liam, Iris checked the stock of explosives while the Baron loomed at the entrance, pensive. There was an underlying tension in the air, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of equipment shifting hands. 

The Ventrue stacked the C4 into her backpack with practiced ease. Then she turned towards the illegal collection of rifles and guns, pondering on the best choice for her task.

“No, those aren’t for you.” Liam spoke up.

A button on the wall was pressed, revealing a sliding panel next to it. When it opened all the way, an echoing silver glow made Iris gasp. An entire collection of Hunter weapons gleamed as they reflected the moonlight, from pistols to blades, to an array of bullets.

“It was all we could find, given the time. I hope it suffices.” The Nosferatu said to Therese, who gave a nod in return.

Green eyes turned to her. “Therese—”

“Don’t thank me, yet.” She waved off with her hand, keeping up an icy front.

Iris seemed to understand. There was a third party around and nobody else had to know the neonate had become something of value to her. So, the Ventrue adorned her Hunter visage and expertly strapped several throwing knives to her belt and left thigh, a silver pistol on the right. Hidden blades were fastened to the underside of her forearms, to get out of close quarters should the need arise.

“This is fine.” Iris told the Nosferatu, who nervously gulped.

Outside, once they were well out of earshot, Therese met her company’s emerald gaze with a concerned look. She’d done all she could, provided all she could, yet somehow, it didn’t feel enough. An unnamed part of her tugged and urged, but she didn’t know what the hell else it wanted her to _do_.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be alright.” Iris assured quietly.

“I’m not worried.” Therese spat the lie like a warning.

An airy chuckle. “Good, then. I guess I’ll see you soon?” She made to turn away, but the Baron’s voice stopped her.

“Just –be careful. If you can’t get the job done, escape.” A big part of Therese was hoping that she would. Except, she knew better than that.

Iris offered a small smile. She took a step closer, fingers curling around the blonde’s hand in a darling little squeeze. “Therese. Thank you.”

And with that, like the sunlight, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Therese, aka when you're about 156 years old and pining after a girl for the very first time. It's sad how the cold and stoic Baron never had a crush before and even now that she does, the wounds left by an abusive past can't let her act on anything she feels (even though it's not hard to see iris wouldn't turn her down). In her mind, it's as though wanting someone is a punishable crime. She is borderline okay with caring for Iris as an individual, but wanting more has thrown her for a loop. 
> 
> Keep the comments, comin', tell me your thoughts :)
> 
> Much love, until next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment, tell me your thoughts! :)


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